LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

©§ap. - ©npyrigl^ !|n.. 






UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



UNDERGROWTH 



y 



GEORGH C. BRAGUON 
I' 







OSWEGO, N. y. 

R. J. OLIPHANT. lUiil.JSHail 

1H05 



^^^ 



Copyrigbt, 1895, 
George C. Bragdon, 



'^pHE verses herein were mostly written in the in- 
tervals of exacting labor. A small edition is 
now published in response to the wishes of valued 
friendsy and to them the book is affectionately in- 
scribed. 

GEORGE C. BRAGDON. 

Rochester, N. ¥., 1895. 



INDEX. 



NATURE. 



Undergrowth, . . .5 

The Forest Lake, . . . . 12 

An April Day, ..... 

A May Day, ...... 

In the Orchard, • . . . . 

At Conesus, ••.... 

Nature's Loom, ..... 

A Winter Memory, • .... 31 

By the Lake, . . . . .47 

One Evening, ■■■... 48 

A Song for East Hill, . . . . .88 

A Song for the St. Lawrence, ... 89 

The Happy Islands, . . . . .91 

Closer to Nature, . . • . . . io4 

In May Moonlight, . . . . . .105 

By the River, •••... 123 
In the Meadow, ••.... 137 

Under the Apple Trees, .... 138 

RELIGION, MORALS, PHILOSOPHY. 

The Beaten Track, ..... 7 

A Half-Heard Song, • .... 8 

Angels, ....... 9 

Fate, ••-..... 13 

The Vine, . . . . . . .15 

Our Saint, . . . .43 

Innocence, •••... bO 

You and He, . . . . . . .9^3 

You and She, •••... 9b 

Dreams and Hopes, . . . . . .97 

A Lenten Meditation, .... 98 

After Easter, ....... 100 

Our King, 102 

Magdalen, ^Q 



The Deacon's Prayer, 


108 


Eternal Life, .... 


. 112 


We See in Part, .... 


118 


The Suicide, .... 


. 140 


LOVE, SENTIMENT, HUMOR. 




A Dear Little Girl, 


10 


The Unknown Singer, 


. 27 


Our Lady, ..... 


46 


Yes, 


. 61 


Be Still, My Heart, 


62 


Caroline, .... 


. 63 


By Sandy Bay, .... 


64 


Remembered Roses, . 


. 65 


The Kiss, 


66 


Come Back, .... 


. 67 


Passing By, .... 


68 


The Sleig-h-Ride, 


.69 


A Summer Song, 


70 


Discovery, .... 


. 71 


Dobson's Proposal, 


72 


A Rural Courtship, . 


. 75 


Old Sweethearts, 


78 


Vassar and Yale, 


. 81 


To Juliet, ..... 


84 


Moonlight, .... 


. 85 


The Tryst, . . • . 


86 


Girls, 


. 87 


When I Recall, .... 


. ■ 150 


An Evolutionary Tradition, 


. 151 


The Stalled Train, 


155 


SONNETS. 




Dante and Beatrice, 


50 


Guernsey Mitchell's "Spring," 


. 51 


Music of the Spheres, . 


52 


In a Cemetery, 


. 53 


One Day, ..... 


54 



A TT PAGE. 

A Hope, ... .55 

Pain, 56 

A Christmas Sounet, .57 

Discipline, ....... 58 

Edison, . . ; . .59 

Tiie Father, ••.... 129 

The Mother, . . 130 

The Brother, •■.... 131 

The Sister, . . . " . .132 

MISCELLANEOUS. 

The Hill, 20 

Abraham Lincoln, . . .32 

Death of General Grant, ... 34 

Our Champion, . . . . .35 

Jack and Cuff, ..... 37 

John Jones, . . .109 

Castle Building, . .111 

Friendship, . . . .113 

The Vigil, •-.... 114 

The Great, •-..... 115 

Richard Realf, . . .116 

A Clear Night, .120 

Girls and Boys, ...... 121 

On Memorial Day, . . . . . .133 

A New Year, ...... 135 

Our Infant World, . . . . .139 

The Coterie, . . ... 141 

Naughty Boys, 148 

My Laurel, . . . . .160 

QUATRAINS, 124 

Shakespeare, Emerson, Tennj^son. Ruskin, Benjamin 
Franklin, Thackeray, Phillips Brooks, Daniel Web- 
ster, Washington, Lincoln, Carlyle, Matthew Ar- 
nold, Dante, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Browning, 
Lowell, Ward's Statue of Conkling, Cardinal 
Newman, Consolation, Stumbling Upward. 



UNDERGROWTH. 

TOWERING above the corner of the wood, 
Uprose two pillared majesties of pine, 
Around which stately elms and maples stood, 
With undergrowth of sapling, bush, and vine. 

Low clumps of hemlocks were a fragrant shield. 
Across which friendly beeches interlaced, 

And in their midst a moss-knoll was concealed — 
A couch of nature, circularly spaced. 

'T was peace to lie in this enclosed retreat 

With upturned face, and from the feathered throats 

Of many birds hear poured, as if to greet 
The human visitor, their variant notes. 

Into the chorus came the neighboring low 
Of thirsty cattle, and the whispered dream 

Of breeze-stirred leaves, and through the noontide glow 
There pierced, sometimes, a soaring eagle's scream. 



A partridge drummed beyond the ferny swale, 
The near lake surged against the sandy ridge, 

The calls of harvesters rang down the vale, 
Slow wagons rumbled o'er the river's bridge. 

The woven undergrowth gave twilight shade 
To minor lives which sought the cooling gloom, 

And half its field-side border was arrayed 
In lushest verdure and entangled bloom. 

Here honey-seeking bees paused droningly, 
And humming-birds of iridescent wings, 

And here was hidden many a mystery 
Of life and death in microscopic things. 

But eyes look up, and through the leafiness 
See sunny gleams and patches of pure blue; 

The bosky spot yields to a heavenward stress, 
And fades beneath imagination's view. 



THE BEATEN TRACK. 

There is a long and low and crooked track, 

Where following crowds have trod, are treading still, 
By noisy leaders led, oft looking back 

For precedents as proofs, with timid will. 
It winds through valleys thick with vaporous air 

From too much shade, and marshy lights allure, 
And though great peaks are nigh, they do not dare 

To try their sunlit sides, wind-swept and pure. 

And yet not all: sometimes one breaks the bond 

Of the restraining herd and steps aside. 
Panting for odorous firs and heights beyond. 

And leaps toward them, scorning to abide 
With weaklings longer; and although they cry, 

''Hold! reckless man — safety is only here!" 
Up, up he goes, and stands against the sky 

With open vision strong, a saint or seer. 



A HALF-HEARD SONG, 

A wonder came out of the air from afar: 

It was song, it was beauty and strength and delight; 
And it soared to a strain that was rayed like a star. 

Reviving old faiths in the triumph of right 
Over wrong, and the triumph of life over death; 

And it sank into quavers of tenderness, too, 
As if the sweet singer scarce trusted the breath 

Of a love just awakened by one who might woo 
Her to give even life for himself, and would go 

Wheresoe'er he might lead, though he led to the rack. 
Or in silence heroic could nobly bestow 

All the wealth of her heart and receive nothing back. 

Is a spirit concealed in the song from afar? 

Is some mighty magician at work, that we hear 
In its pure undulations the tones that unbar 

The gates of the soul? that the trill to the ear 
Sends a thrill to the heart of such various scope. 

Though the words are all swallowed by spaces of air? 
That meanings profound as the deepest we grope 

For in laneruafje's letter seem svmbolized there ? 



ANGELS. 

Wc are like insects in the grass, 

And cannot see the angels pass 

As forth between the stars they glide 

In holy beauty, side by side. 

We do but creep, we are so small, 

And angels are so swift and tall ! 

God immanent, not understood, 
But good when things appear least good. 
Let Thy great angels, as they pass, 
Stoop down and lift us from the grass 
And from the clay, that we may see 
More of Thy light and more of Thee ; 
And help us help ourselves to do 
That which will make us angels, too. 



A DEAR LITTLE GIRL. 

One fragrant and radiant day 
There budded with blossoms of May 
Our May of the clustering curls, 
The dearest of dear little girls. 
How tiny the darling was then; 
But now, only think, she is ten ! 

Ah me ! how the swift seasons fly 
Like vanishing clouds in the sky. 
Well, well, as it has to be so. 
Let's garner their joys as they go, 
And put them down into our hearts 
To lessen the aches and the smarts. 
Let's romp with the dear little girls, 
Like May of the clustering curls, 
And shout with the dear little boys, 
Like Claude of the clarion voice. 
Let's gather them up in our laps, 
And tell them the curious haps 
And notions and fancies and fun 
Abounding here under the sun. 
And live our lives over again 
In their lives — we women and men. 

10 



Oho ! there are arms round my neck, 
White arms that endear and bedeck, 
And all over my face are the curls 
Of the dearest of dear little girls, 
And a pair of the reddest of lips 
Is giving me nectarine sips. 
And a voice murmurs whisperingly, 
"Tell a nice little story to me." 

And because one has fairly been sold 
For kisses, and ought to be told, 
Repeating our sweet pantomime. 
And beginning with ''Once on a time,' 
I invent her a fairy tale, 
And give her a fanciful sail 
On a gossamer boat of the sky. 
From a harbor where cloud-lands lie, 
Through space to a valley afar 
In the west, on a glimmering star, 
And stud it with rubies and pearls 
For this dearest of dear little girls. 



11 



THH FORHST LAKb. 

When Nature planned her great and sombre soHtudcs, 

And would some more than matchless ornament pro- 
duce 

To beautify the valley in the deepest woods, 

She dropped this liquid gem, and from her wealth 
profuse 

Set tall pines close around, and ranks of lowlier trees 

Of varied leafiness, and m^ade its mirror clear, 

And fixed some rounded islets in to better please 

Those who might roam that way for healthful rest and 
cheer. 

I saw a skiff-rocked maiden there, whose happy face, 

As she bent over, blushed to find itself so fair. 
She pulled white water-lilies up with dainty grace. 

And breathed from sweetest lips a love-song to the air. 
While thrushes overhead responded amorously, 

Song melting into song across the murmurings 
Of gently-lapping waves and many a breeze-touched tree, 

Where fairies dove and danced, or flow on filmy wings. 



12 



FATE. 

Didst thou, resistless, preordain 

Each deed of love, each deed of hate. 

Worlds, souls, events, all bliss and pain, 
Despite our conscious wills, O Fate? 

So bards have sung, so reasoned seers; 

So, as we go our several ways. 
And futile striving halts in tears, 

Or unexpected joys amaze 
Oar hungry hearts and puzzled brains. 

We think we think, though not for long, 
But still count forfeitures and gains. 

And talk of strength, of right and wrong. 

Heredity's stern walls confine 

When aspiration fain would soar, 

And place and circumstance combine 
To balk resolve forevermorc. 

Are these thy servants, mocking Fate? 

And must we do thy bidding still? 
And does Illusion always prate 

Her cunning fables to the will? 

13 



So be it, if it was to be; 

Yet must we seem to struggle on, 
As if nathless the will were free, 

Nor seem to yield, nor cringe, nor fawn, 
Slave-like, for favor, lest at last 

Our eyes be opened to behold 
That not in all the teeming past 

Was Fate sufficient to enfold 
Mankind in any ruthless grasp, 

But they were dowered with power to bend 
Her rigid arm, and half unclasp 

Her hand, to shape a course and end. 



14 



THE VINE. 

Far backward in the ancient days 

A seraph flew through airy ways 

To the new earth, and scattered seed 

Of fruit of heaven with silent speed, 

Then winged himself on high again, 

Unseen, as now, by dim-eyed men. 

And vines sprang up where he had sown, 

And clustering grapes thenceforth were grown. 

A prophet, tasting, understood 
The meaning of the heavenly food, 
Foretelling that the Holy One, 
When Ke appeared as Mary's son. 
Would sanctify its purple juice, 
And make it fit for sacred use, 
With words undying and intense — 
" This is my blood " — of deepest sense. 

So, from the sacramental rim 
We drink in memory of Him. 



15 



AN APRIL DAY. 

But yesterday the snow was on the hill, 

And mists brought down a dull and shivering ache, 
And all the robins were concealed and still, 

And -not one prophet of the flowers outspake. 

To-day the sun looks out with smiling face. 

And drinks the cheerless mists, and melts the snow. 
And woos each songster from its hiding-place, 

And spreads athwart the hill a summer glow. 

Glad contrast! sweet rebuke of feeble hope! 

Promise of seed and harvest time's return, 
Howe'er at intervals our spirits grope 

In unbelief of that for which they yearn. 

Dear April day, I put thee in my lieart, 
So that, when other April days shall come 

Like yesterday, their sadness may depart 
In memory of thee, and doubt grow dumb. 

I'll take thee, April day, when thou art past, 

Along with me into the nearing May, 
And months and years beyond, and hold thee fast 

As a briglit benison, O A|iril day. 

16 



No dreary mists between the sun and me 

Should hide the One whose wisdom cannot fail, 

And I am all too blind unless I see 

Through every veil to Him within the veil. 

But new anointing may restore the sight, 

And bring a faith which, like a midnight star, 

Shall flash through blackest darkness paths of light, 
And show the good awaiting us afar. 

Be our anointing on this April day, 

And let it make our faltering purpose strong, 

And give the living faith for which we pray, 
And change our murmuring to praiseful song. 

Its passage even now foretells the sweets 
In the near future of unnumbered flowers, 

And all the beauty which the year repeats, 

From glistening dews to rainbows after showers; 

From leafy greenness in the woods and fields, 
To day-fringed splendors of the east and west, 

And soft effulgence which the night-sky yields. 
Flowing, perchance, from regions of the blest. 

And thus our aspirations fed by thee, 

O day of days and better life begun, 
May more approach the things which are to be 

Of futures glorious as this April sun. 



A MAY DAY. 

The spirit of nature in May is like love in a maiden's 
heart, 

Which blossoms in blushes and smiles, unaided by 
touches of art, 

And holds the adoring eyes of her lover on her alone, 

And quickens her wishing thoughts, responsive to 
thoughts of his own. 

O come as a sweetheart might come, yet nearer to me, 
gentle May, 

And temper my spirit with thine, and make me thy 
lover to-day — 

A lover as true as thyself — and lessen and whiten my 
sin. 

And show me the sacredest fanes of thy forest, that I 
may go in. 

The holy of holies of old, in the temple that Solomon 

made. 
Was none the more holy than thine, and yet I need not 

be afraid 

To enter, and stand by the side of its altars and pillars 
of trees. 

Beneath its long arches of green, and utter my praises 
and pleas. 

18 



An angel of beauty and song, of incense and blessing, is 
May, 

An angel of peace and of love, and May is my sweetheart 
to-day; 

And better are praises and pleas to the Maker of me and 
of thee, 

With thy bloom, O my sweetheart, and birds, exhaling 
and singing for me. 

Come, clasp me more close to thy heart, and breathe thy 
life into my own. 

That my burden, like Christian's, may fall, and at last 
the imprisoning stone 

Which has darkened the innermost door of my sometimes 
sepulchered soul. 

May be moved by invisible hands, and away from the 
sepulcher roll. 



19 



THE HILL. 

Westward a grove, a pastured plain, 

A marsh which touched the great lake's shore, 
Where waves would rush and beat in vain 

To burst their bounds, with sullen roar; 
Or, when in milder mood, would kiss 

The pebbled sand and scattered sedge 
With hungry lips, as if 'twere bliss. 

And all along their quivering edge 
Would babble some of Nature's words 

Which only sages comprehend. 
Responsive to the screaming birds 

That whirled above the surfy bend. 

The dwellers on the Hill could see 

The white-winged vessels sail the bay. 
And watered sunsets grow to be 

Prismatic splendors from the gray. 
Between were broken banks of sand 

Where slender pines rose to the skies. 
And caught the winds from lake and land, 

And made them over into sighs. 
On these the eagles built their nests. 

Beneath them foxes dug their holes, * 
And here and there were shady rests 

Of bushy dells and viny knolls. 

30 



Southward an isle-gemmed river's clear, 

Deep flow went widening to the lake, 
And north a winding creek was near, 

That crept through meadow, marsh, and brake. 
Eastward blue hills above blue hills 

Bespoke a woody wilderness 
Where Nature lavishly distills 

Exalting influences to bless 
Her chosen ones who seek her haunts 

Receptively, with open hearts, 
Tired of the town's deceitful vaunts. 

And jostling crowds, and busy marts. 

When south winds brought to us the scent 

Of greening valley-lands and trees. 
And voices of the air were blent 

With zephyr-whispered prophecies. 
Up we would rise and hurry forth 

To eddying pools beneath the pine. 
And there would quaff from sky and earth 

With every sense the draughts divine, 
While trout would flash along the brook. 

The wood-thrush pipe its notes on high, 
The leaping squirrel pause and look, 

The partridge from its covert fly. 

Toward the river's harbor stands 
A breadth of forest and romance, 

21 



Left by the sturdy axmen's hands, 

Where sylphids flit and fairies dance, 
If anywhere, so weirdly sweet 

Its shadowy recesses are, 
So many lingering youthful feet, 

From neighboring homes and homes afar, 
Have wended them in nutting-time. 

So many lovers there have felt 
Their hearts keep tune, like chanted rhyme, 

As side by side they stooped or knelt 
To pick the fruit, or strolled the road. 

Leaf-carpeted and leaf-roofed, where 
Departed pioneers have strode — 

A gothic arch with balmiest air. 

The wood is bordered by the marsh. 

Wide-sweeping north — a marsh whose creek 
The lilies love ; where, soft and harsh. 

Mixed clamors from the lives which seek 
Its varied food are heard all day; 

Where bitterns boom, and pickerel dart, 
And muskrats hive, and ducklings play, 

And red-wings act a fickle part. 

Surrounding levels, slopes and hills 
Were dotted with the homes of men 

Of hardy stock, whose steady wills 
And ready brawn scarce rested when 

22 



The need for work or friendly aid 

Was felt ; and heroes understand 
How, when Contagion came and laid 

On households its destructive hand, 
A Spartan few were not afraid 

To go as duty should command, 
And face the bedside dangers there, 

Proving in ministrations sweet 
That they could nobly do and dare, 

Like Him who washed unworthy feet. 
The martyr feeling of the past 

Blazed in their Puritanic hearts, 
And though they knew its breath might blast 

Themselves, they ran to do their parts — 
The Abigails and Marys first. 

The Johns and Isaacs close behind. 
Each pre-resolved to fight the worst 

Earth-evils found in flesh and mind. 

Some met at eventide each week. 

Within the school-room's dingy space, 
In meditative prayer to seek 

Supporting strength and saving grace. 
The tallow dips burned small and dim. 

But through the dimness they could see 
The New Jerusalem and Him 

Who "made His great salvation free." 

23 



There warning exhortations fell 

In solemn phrase from aged lips, 
And old and young alike would tell 

Their hopes and helps and hindering slips. 
Their prayers were long, and on their knees 

They sang long hymns in fervid tones, 
And kneeling still, renewed their pleas 

For sacred gifts, while shouts and groans 
Would hope and penitence reveal, 

And interrupt the hymn or prayer — 
Discords which only made them feel 

More surely that the Lord was there. 

A simple people, plain and quaint, 

With narrow outlook, but of mould 
Between the hero and the saint — 

In faith devout, in action bold. 
Their lives were then so linked with ours, 

That much in ours from theirs has sprung. 
Now felt like scents from withered flowers, 

Or tones from far-off church-bells rung. 

The house upon the Hill was old, 

But beautified with branching bloom. 

Which seemed delighted to enfold 
And gladden its inviting gloom. 

Jt reappears, low-roofed and square, 

9.i 



From one spring morning, eloquent 
Through all its lower depths of air 
With rarest things in song and scent. 

Returning with impatient haste 

From travel to the hallowed shrine 
Of home, I paused to better taste 

Of Nature's effervescing wine. 
The clouds were striped with early tints 

Of blending shades that changed to white, 
And night-born dews shot answering glints 

Up to the sun's resplendent light. 
There stood the generous chestnut tree, 

With long and tasseled limbs flung wide, 
Where insects held a jubilee, 

There hung the swaying swing beside. 
I heard an oriole above — 

A spot of flame among the leaves — 
A robin warbled, cooed a dove, 

And swallows circled from the eaves. 

The meadow southward loudly rang 

With choruses of joyful birds. 
And down the road a milkmaid sang 

In rustic voice some rustic words. 
And then I heard the prayer of one 

Who always prayed in accents low 

25 



And musical, at rise of sun, 

His spirit's reverent overflow; 
And when he ceased, the gentler voice 

Of her who loved him in his youth, 
And held him still with changeless choice 

In love's devoted trust and truth. 

Ah, nothing stirred my heart-strings more 

Than those dear voices, calm and true, 
Of morning worship through the door 

By which the spreading chestnut grew, 
Except the greetings of surprise, 

Amid the fluttering leaves and birds. 
That shone from the parental eyes. 

And spake in heart-throbs more than words. 

Time dims but does not dissipate 

These thronging memories of the Hill, 

Which rise like some benignant fate 
To charm or chide the wayward will. 



26 



THE UNKNOWN SINGER. 

The sinking sun cast on the river's breast 

Its yellow light, outbreaking suddenly 
From clouds, and shone on her from the low west, 

And glorified her silken hair; and she 
Was crowned thereby with the departing light, 

Which mingled with the light of sapphire eyes, 
Themselves sufficient to postpone the night, 

Make day of night, or for the night suffice. 

And as she sang it seemed that none could hear 

Who could but choose to listen to the close, 
Waiting enthralled, yet longing to draw near. 

Afraid some common voice might interpose 
To break or mar the filmy notes that hung 

And lightly bridged the narrowest space between 
Sweet silence and sweet sound, and bridging, clun^ 

A moment to the one, then danced like sheen 
On ripples of a stream, and backward crept 

Light quavering, as if to gather in 
Best elfin music, but at last upleapt 

To where full-swelling harmonies begin. 



27 



IN THE ORCHARD. 

The tentacles of the gnarled trunk reach down 

Into the quickened earth with subtle touch, 
And find the fabric for this pink-white gown 

Which robes so gloriously. Nature is such 
A miracle, after each winter's gloom, 

That we are stolid not to wonder more 
As we go forth beneath the fragrant bloom. 

Where flitting robins lingeringly pour 
Out songs that tear their throats with ecstacies, 

And build in loving pairs their summer homes, 
And where, unseen, drunken with winy bliss, 

Tumble in calyxes a million gnomes. 

The leaves will change as sunny days shall flow 

Into the past, and many a tiny shoot 
Within this ancient pippin tree will show 

The yellow redness of a ripened fruit 
Which well might tempt another tempting Eve 

To brave divine commands, and reach and take 
And eat and give to man, and man receive 

Both for the apple's and Eve's beauty's sake. 



28 



AT CONESUS. 

Along this leaf-draped shore, all fair, 
With spots of bloom inwoven, 

Low symphonies are in the air, 
Inspiring as Beethoven. 

Give fancy wing: across the lake 

Is seen a path to glory, 
And heard within the wavelet's break 

A mermaid's murmured story. 

The red sun is a blazing eye. 
Far hills are castles olden. 

The clouds that rim the western sky 
A heavenly city golden. 



31) 



NATURE'S LOOM. 

Nature dear, awakened from her winter dream, 

Ope'd her eyes with sweetest blush, and glance, and 
golden gleam. 

Then she went to weaving, and is weaving still, 
All along the valley-fields, all along the hill. 

What a maze of patterns mother Nature weaves 
Out of microscopic germs, microscopic leaves! 

Grassy spreads and carpets, dandelion-specked. 
Gorgeous drapery whereof all the woods are decked; 

Sunshine-freckled garments round and round the hill — 
Weaving, weaving everywhere, ceaselessly and still. 

Wondrously her loom works: up, around, below, 
Countless unseen shuttles fly silent to and fro. 

All among the leaflets, all among the grass, 

All among the fibrous roots magic threadlets pass 

Fairer grow the patterns, changing every hour. 
Changing, changing everywhere — stalk, and leaf, and 
flower. 



30 



A WINTER MEMORY. 

The winters on the Hill were long and fierce. 

The great nor'westers, sweeping down the lake, 
Across the ice-fields, roaringly would pierce 

The sheltering apple-trees, and wildly shake 
The aging house, toss the bewildering snow 

Toward the sky and tear it into dust; 
And having spent their force, the sun would show 

The sculptured banks, which night would so encrust. 
After a melting day, that we could go 

And sport on finer curves of whiter floor 
Than man has ever made, nor care to know 

The warmth w^ithin the house, from loving more 
The quickened pulse without. Our sleds that shot 

Like arrows down the north-road slope and o'er 
The undulations of the eastern lot, 

Were better than all ease, as swift they bore 
Us on, and on, and on. And when the creek 

Became an icy glare from bridge to lake, 
Yet better were our skates, as we would seek, 

In schoolboy ranks or in each other's wake. 
With tingling nerves, to glide the three-mile course 

Around the bends in less than race-horse time, 
Our rivalry for conquest adding force, 

Our equal swayings action's perfect rhyme. 

31 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 

He hated not and boasted not, 
But turning from himself, forgot 
Himself, and when the strife waxed hot. 
Smiled sadly, with superior trust, 
That saw beyond the moment's gust 
Of wrath, and through its battle-dust. 

Let chaste refinement's courtliest grace, 
And beauty's most enticing face, 
And bluest blood take second place 
Behind the unkempt form and dress 
Where grew our noblest manliness, 
And fruited in sublime success. 

No tenderer heart was ever known; 
No royal splendor ever shone 
From conquest, ancestry, or throne 
With such rich lustre of renown 
And grateful love as were his crown 
When reckless passion struck him down. 

But we forget — it was not he: 
The murderer had not power to see 
The Lincoln whom his blow set free. 

32 



The homely face and awkward form 
Hid from all evil sight the warm, 
Strong soul that faced the nation's storm. 

rhey were his earthy mask. Who knows 
The world which sense cannot disclose, 
Or there how fair, how bright he glows ? — 
He who, so true, was so beset. 
For whom such countless eyes were wet. 
And some of which are weeping yet. 

O, if divine rewards are given 
For patient faith in some sweet heaven. 
Can he who has so borne and striven 
Be less than passing fair and bright 
There, Sun Eternal, in Thy light, 
Where patient faith is lost in sight? 



33 



DEATH OF GENERAL GRANT. 

Give way, heroic shades, 

For him whose Hfe dissuades 
From vanities not less than craven fears — 

Our first among the brave 

To whom the people wave 
Their last farewells bedewed with fitting tears. 

He watched and waited long. 

By few accounted strong, 
To find his place and do his proper task — 

Decide the nation's fate, 

Which saw itself grow great 
As battle-blows struck off his tanner's mask. 

The startled world beheld 

A leader who could weld 
The purposes of millions into one. 

And win in every fight, 

And rise from height to height 
Of each occasion's need in duties done. 

O silent, steady man, 

As wise to act as plan, 
Unconquered to the last, forever Grant, 

We sing thy shining fame. 

Thy talismanic name. 
Thy tender heart and will of adamant. 

34 



OUR CHAMPION. 

What shall be said of men who utter best 

Words needed most in moments big with fate, 
Impressing reason's wise and safe behest 

Upon the people with resistless weight? 
Of men who rise sublimely to the height 

Of great occasions in their spoken thought, 
With majesty of will, and piercing sight, 

And argument unanswerably wrought? 
These sometimes more than king or president 

May hold a nation back from civil strife. 
And sometimes more than warring armament 

May save or may restore a nation's life. 

Then shall not he who championed our cause 

With matchless speech when peril was abroad— 
So well that all who listened could but pause 

To listen more, and listening, to laud — 
Who made gigantic falsehood hide for shame. 

By stripping off its covering of pretense, 
And dragged it forth, and with a tongue of flame 

Burnt it to death— have fitting recompense? — 
The recompense of large and liberal trust. 

Too large to care for the ignoble brood 
Of muttered jealousies which rise like dust 

Between us and the great, to hide their good? 

35 



Can purposes so strong and words so wise 

For country, and for justice, and for right, 
Have come through any littleness or lies? 

No : inspiration for so brave a fight 
As that for which a wondering people bring 

The crown of eloquence to him who fought, 
And unfeigned praises do not cease to ring. 

Was neither evil- born nor danger- fraught. 



36 



JACK AND CUFF. 

If equine spirits rise from earth 
To better pastures anywhere, 

Because of tried and trusted worth, 
I'm sure that Jack and Cuff are there. 

I seem to see them in the glow 
Of some elysium, where the two 

Roam free from burdens here below 
Which they were wont to bear and do. 

If man may scan a wasted past, 
And near life's end repent enough 

To reach a paradise at last, 

Why is there none for Jack and Cuff?- 

For Jack and Cuff who toiled so well 
In patient pull and rattling speed, 

Complainless whatsoe'er befell 

Of chafe, or sprain, or hungry need? 

And through the circling seasons long 
They stepped in harness evenly. 

And showed a friendliness as strong 
As half the human loves we see. 



37 



I found Jack once in jealous huff 

Because another horse was near, 
Making kind overtures to Cuff, 

With seeming whispers in his ear. 

And Cuff was sure to yearn for Jack, 
If Jack were gone a day or more, 

With pleading eye, till he came back 
And whinnied at the stable door. 

They drew us to the church and mill, 
The picnic grove and fishing place, 

The lake and glen, with right good will 
And pride of equine strength and grace. 

They drew the harrow and the plow. 
The bulging loads of hay and grain. 

Along the fertile breast and brow 
Of hill and ridge, in shine and rain. 

The agents they scarce less than we, 
There on the farm, as seasons sped. 

Of Nature, while she bounteously 
Dispensed to us her fruit and bread. 

And I remember, Cuff and Jack, 

How through the pitch-holes, up and down, 
You caused the bobs to creak and crack 

In trotting to and from the town; 

38 



And how the carryall would shake 
Its gay ones, chattering as they rode 

Bouncing behind you to the lake, 
Careless of social form or code. 

And memory again recalls 

One bright and fragrant morning. Cuff, 
When you were driven to the Falls 

O'er solitary ways and rough. 

The merry maiden by my side 

Helped me to make the forest ring 

With laugh and shout, that rose and died 
In far-off echoes of the spring. 

I half imagined, too, old Jack, 

That when she rode with me one night, 

You somehow felt the playful smack 

You heard might be more wrong than right. 

For, shaking twice your honest head, 
You jumped aside with smothered neigh. 

And ''Oh!" and "dear!" the maiden said, 
And clung to me along the way. 

I took the "dear" all to myself 
Just when it passed her dainty lips. 

And felt as glad as any elf, 

And thrills ran to my finger-tips. 

39 



I pulled you in, old Jack, of course. 
And clasped the girl protectingly, 

And said you were as true a horse 
And wise a horse as horse could be. 

Since then I've learned that Mary knew 

You meant no harm, and feigned her fright 

To feel my arm, and hear me sue 
For what she gave to me that night. 

Sometimes when I repeat the kiss, 
Remindfully, that moved you so. 

The matron who was then the miss 

Repeats the ''dear" with blushing glow. 

(Here I talk on to Jack and Cuff 

As if they, somewhere listening, heard 

And knew the meaning well enough 
Of every reminiscent word. ) 

I paused behind the plow one day 

That you might cool your heated flanks, 

And looking off across the bay, 
Above its shore of mottled banks. 

Beheld a heaven of amber light 

Along the peaks of cloud-piled skies. 

Which now shines to my inner sight 
As then it shone before my eyes. 

40 



In reverie the plow became 

A rolling chariot of fire, 
With you its coursers, breathing flame, 

And every moment leaping higher. 

We almost reached the glories seen 
Ere reason could resume its power. 

And drop us back upon the green 
Old farm, that memorable hour. 

And thus with you I often found. 

Amid the drudgeries of life. 
The compensations clustering round 

The farmer's wearying steps and strife. 

And oftentimes I thought I saw 
Within your almost human eyes 

A kindred wish, to win and draw 
The man and horse to closer ties; 

So that I fancied understood 

Between us, though of different stuff, 

Some subtler things of mind and mood 
Than common ones, old Jack and Cuff. 

The master of the farm and you. 

Ah, Jack and Cuff! ah. Cuff and Jack ! 

Who fed you, groomed you, loved you, too, 
Has gone, like you, and comes not back. 

41 



One autumn day he fell asleep, 
After a brave and patient fight, 

And could not wake for us who keep 

His memory green, but passed from sight. 

I've thought, if he can have his will 
Out in that better place than this. 

He goes to you sometimes to fill 
The utmost measure of his bliss. 



42 



OUR SAINT. 

There was a woman once so pure and fine 
That men half questioned if she were divine, 
And there were those would weepingly confess 
Dark sins to her of their unrighteousness. 

She was not canonized, as some have been, 
And yet you could not trace the taint of sin 
In any of her quiet words and ways, 
Of any place or day of all her days. 

And so we thought her saint, and called her such. 
While here and there came one who longed to touch 
Her garment's hem, if haply it might be 
A holy charm to set a chained soul free. 

Madonna? No; and yet it always seemed 
That the still influences which from her streamed 
Were like those ancient ones where knelt and trod 
The storied mother of the Son of God. 

Some saints are shrined upon the church's books 
Who paved their lives with penance, and whose looks 
Were overshadowed by a gloom intense — 
Their faith's sincere but tragic eloquence. 

43 



Not such an one was she — our saint — ah, no: 
From all her being flowed the tender glow 
Of loves and hopes that fed on happiness, 
Receiving which she could the better bless. 

She even chided with a helpful smile, 
And chiding, longed to say "well done!" the while. 
Then beamed on goodness with so bright a grace 
That all sweet things seemed nestling in her face. 

The rankling hates and envies of mankind. 
Which steal their faith and truth, and make them blind, 
And keep them back from virtue's course and goal, 
Were scared and scattered by her gentle soul. 

She turned not tremblingly away at sight 
Of any ill, for love o'ercame all fright 
And stirred the mother feeling, which is wont 
To stand protectingly in danger's front. 

Her low voice, soft as breathings from a tlute. 
Spake its right word in season, then was mute. 
Pausing and waiting willingly to learn, 
While other speech or silence had its turn. 

Her calm eyes could but shine with speechless pleas 
To others' hearts for kindly sympathies, 
Revealing hers as one which could not rest 
From wishing blessings on each life unblest. 

44 



Her willing feet and willing hands would haste 
To give each new-found sufferer a taste 
Of whatsoever things might help or heal 
The body or the soul, for either's weal. 

Could you have heard her pray, as we have heard, 
To the dear God, each fervent, faith-winged word 
Seeming to fly straight upward to His throne, 
You would have wished to make her faith your own. 

You would have felt the secret of her power, 
And wondered not that almost every hour 
New strength and courage unto her were sent, 
Nor that she shared them wheresoe'er she went. 

Could you have heard her sing, as we have heard. 

Her notes as clear as those of any bird. 

And praise and tenderness in every one. 

You would have reverenced her, as we have done. 

She was herself a very prayer and song, 
E'en though her lips kept silent, all day long; 
You saw her such in every move and look. 
You read her such as in an open book. 



45 



OUR LADY. 

Our lady could not come and go 

Where men and women came and went 

And they not feel the winning glow 
Of her sweet self and sweet intent. 

As through her eyes you saw her heart, 
You wished her near forevermore; 

And that some miracle or art 

Might give to you the smile she wore — 

A smile so ravishingly rare 

That half of heaven seemed to shine 
Between the locks of gold-brown hair, 

And stirred the pulse like ancient wine. 

And when she spake her perfect voice 
Was something rivaling her smile. 

So that you could not make your choice 
Of smile or perfect voice the while. 

She floated through the town each day 
As floats a sun-tinged summer cloud, 

And brutish men along her way 

Were chastened in her light, and cowed. 

46 



BY THE LAKE. 

The day descends; the lake reflects the sun 

As if besplashed across with molten ore 
Caught in the waves, which slumberously run, 

And die in liquid murmurs on the shore. 
And lispings to the murmurs make reply 

From dying leaves that stir above my head, 
And in the midst I hear October sigh, 

Because the leaves are dying or are dead. 
A creek runs out and mingles with the waves 

Where gulls drop down, and schools of minnows play 
And yonder, near the reeds, a diver laves 

His feathers. To the southward bends the bay 
Where storm meets storm, and waterspouts lift high 

Their heads to dipping clouds, like giants grey; 
And yesterday was seen in the mid-sky — 

As if the landscape would itself survey — 
Mirages mirroring the distant farms. 

To-night how glows the west, and how serene 
Is Nature's heart, distributing her charms 

O'er sky, shore, hills, and billowy miles between. 



47 



ONE EVENING. 

We sat where bashful violets peered 
Through half-concealing grasses green, 

Beneath an oak tree, gnarled and weird, 
And looked upon a tranquil scene. 

The place was flecked with yellow light, 

Sifted from out the hazy west. 
Where Day was beckoning to Night 

To come and bring the toilers rest. 

And soon Night's black wing was discerned 
Shading the hillsides far away, 

While like a fiery ember burned 
The half-hid sun of fleeing Day. 

We spake in undertones awhile 
Of other spots and eves and days. 

But paused to watch the valley smile 
Responsive to the sun's last rays. 

Then in the dusk the cottage lights 
Gleamed out like beacons, one by one, 

From where the evening household rites 
By household priestesses were done. 

And one by one the stars came out 

And shone from all the brooding sky — 

God's altar-fires where souls devout 
May pause and worship as they fly. 

48 



How clear the stars shone down that night ! 

They seemed to say, " Come up ! come here ! " 
As we were held, save thought and sight, 

Close-fastened to our little sphere. 

The light breeze rustled through the oak, 
The night-bird whistled by the shore, 

And on the lake was heard the stroke 
Of some belated boatman's oar. 

A young girl trilled a roundelay 

In notes which distance made more sweet, 

And laughs of children at their play 
Rang gayly from the shadowed street. 

And then a silvery shimmer ran 

Along the rims of eastern clouds. 
And where the range of hills began 

Their nun-like garments changed to shrouds; 

When lo ! the round moon rose and smiled 

On us and all the intervale, 
As almost dreamily we whiled 

The hour with varied talk and tale. 

Peace hovered o'er with downy wing. 

And fanned the passions into rest ; 
Care hid itself, pain lost its sting, 

And heaven seemed almost possessed. 

49 



DANTE AND BEATRICE. 

The world, to Dante, was eclipsed by her, 

Darkening beside the radiance of her face, 
Which through his love-lens he beheld astir 

With largesses suggesting every grace. 
Beauty, and sweetness that men know or dream — 

In birds, flowers, trees, and gems, landscapes and skies, 
And art, with music's best; beheld a gleam 

Supernal from the blue depths of her eyes. 
As if she had been shown the mysteries 

Of holiest things — too holy to repeat 
Save to the purified; therefore his knees 

Bent of themselves in reverence at her feet. 
And in rapt vision, after she had died. 

He walked the heavenly stairways by her side. 



50 



GUERNSEY MITCHELL'S STATUE OF 

"SPRING." 

The winter germs sleep in earth's frozen breast, 
To rise as blossoms in the later year, 
With greenest garniture of leaf and spear ; 

And the rough-quarried marble once possessed 

This sweet similitude in covered rest, 

Her sculptured beauty waiting for the seer 
With artist eye which could behold it clear, 

To issue slowly forth at his behest. 

Enraptured sings the cuckoo at her feet; 
The breezes fling her gauzy drapery 

To more enhance her every curving grace. 

While she bends white to summon and to greet 

Nature's new bloom and verdure radiantly, 

The faith and bliss of Eden in her face. 



MUSIC OF THE SPHERES. 

Could we not hear, had we archangels' ears 

Finely attuned, the vast harmonic flow. 
Now all too ravishing for us, of spheres 

Whose cadences, divinely grand and slow, 
Are eons long? Do systems not respond. 

Out where immensities are little things 
Compared to the immensities beyond, 

To systems chorally, so that there rings 
A various symphony from space to space, 

Forever and forever, which shall be 
To those exalted by celestial grace, 

In the hereafters of eternity. 
Their heaven of sound? and may they not behold 
The veil that hides the angelic choirs uprolled? 



53 



IN A CEMETERY. 

Here heroes lie, and women whose true ways 
Were sweet as heaven, but under earth-damps cold, 
And changed, alas ! to unresponsive mould. 

Remembering what they were, we sound the praise 

Of their full lives in those historic days 

When battle-throes made youth grow quickly old. 
And taught the timid to be nobly bold. 

Where are the informing souls whose ardent rays 

So streamed from them, and showed them strong and 
fair? 
Gone utterly? Think, rather, they descend 

From realms of peace, sometimes, and hovering o'er 

This marbled hill, see through the limpid air, 
Along the valley's slope, friend after friend, 
Tried as by fire, and seeing, love them more. 



53 



ONE DAY. 

On sloping turf, flower-flecked, red cattle grazed 
Beside a crinkled lake, which wove the light 
Into thick-flashing glories; and the sight 

Drank beauty from them, and from near hills mazed 

By early leafiness, where spring birds crazed 
Themselves with multitudinous song and flight. 
Shaking the sprays of green and thorn-bloom white. 

For such rare days and scenes let God be praised. 

A question grew: In some good time, somewhere. 
Self having conquered self by slow degrees. 

And the cleansed soul grown into stature great. 

Shall not this purity of light and air. 
The beauty of these waves, birds, flowers, and trees. 
Be the remembered symbols of our state? 



54 



A HOPE. 

It may be, after he had closed his eyes 

For the last time, expiring with the day, 
He found reward for his self-sacrifice 

In separation from his body's clay. 
Whereby, unweighted, he went up and stood 

Above the thickening shadow of the night. 
Welcomed by the departed great and good 

To sweet serenities and quickened sight, 
Where pain becomes a memory of the past, 

And hate is not, and passion is controlled. 
And wisdom's highest truths are garnered fast 

As mysteries supernal are unrolled ; 
Where beauties bloom of which the prophets dream 
When thrilled by inspiration's brightest gleam. 



55 



PAIN. 

Amid the moving crowd along the street 

Peers a pale face, with lines round mouth and eyes 
Recording many agonies which made her wise 

Who bore them ; ay, for bitter more than sweet — 

Such is the law divine — more than success defeat 
Unveils arcana, and impels the soul to rise 
Toward eternal verities which God denies 

To those who live in sensuous pleasures steeped. 

Welcome to pain that gives the clearest sight, 
And purest, most exalting joys at last. 
If it be patiently and bravely borne. 

And she, the pale-faced, fought so good a fight. 
That less than all the gay ones we have passed 
She needs our pity, although scarred and worn. 



56 



A CHRISTMAS SONNET. 

Dare we depress the lowly with proud scorn 

Or cold neglect, when we remember where 
Our Christ, the Lord adorable, was born. 

And how in manhood's walks He chose to bear 
The burdens of the sinning poor and weak, 

With healing hands and gracious words, nor found 
A place to lay His head, but would not seek 

The favors of the great, yet now is crowned 
Above all earthly kings ? Ye stricken ones 

And faint, take heart ! for this your heritage 
Is like your Lord's, and you, too, are the sons 

Of God. See worldly pomps and pleasures rage, 
But do not covet them, lest, too much shared, 
You should forget how Christ, the Loveliest, fared. 



57 



DISCIPLINE. 

Patience I inheritors of poverty ; 

Patience! ye hungry, ye who lie forlorn, 
Wasting by slow disease from morn to morn, 

And all who groan, unsoothed by sympathy. 

Be faith your stay, which has the power to see 
That Wisest Goodness caused us to be born, 
And will mete justice to the weak and worn 

In His best time, and in their joy to be 

Pour sweets proportioned to their earthly pain. 
With Him ten thousand times ten thousand years 
Are as a moment. Why should He make haste 

To end the discipline, not borne in vain, 
Of endless lives, and dry their needed tears? 
In human suffering' there is no waste. 



58 



EDISON. 

The giddy crowd, pursuing trivial things, 

Like gold, the spoils of place, deceiving fame, 
Or passion-mad, or glorying in shame, 
Or, gossip-laden, flinging slanderous stings. 
But little know the searching thought that wings 
The spirit of our Edison with flame, 
And gives to him the radiance of his name ; 
Little the thrilling consciousness it brings 
Into his different life, whereof he feels 
The harmonies of everlasting laws. 

Detects their subtle meanings, then subdues 
Their forces to his bidding, and reveals 

To the great world their uses, without pause. 
But after each brave conquest toil renews. 



59 



INNOCENCE. 

She does not know that she is sweet, 
That she is pure, that she is fair, 
That 'neath the halo of her hair 

The perfect graces coyly meet. 

Unconscious innocence, which we 
Who are grown old, alas ! have lost, 
By waves of sultry passion tossed, 

Careening on this human sea. 

Time taints us so ! Give, give once more. 
Creative Heart, our childish hearts, 
Although not skilled in worldly arts, 

Although not wise in worldly lore. 



60 



YES. 

Before the trembling curves of dewy lips, 

Where paused the word of his supreme desire, 
And brownest eyes that drooped in part eclipse, 

Before a happy, happy heart on fire. 
Which glorified her maiden loveliness. 

He bowed, with ear attent, and felt at last 
The heaven of her almost whispered ''Yes" — 

The tender truth he had not dared forecast. 
Thus in one balmy breath's low monotone 

She gave to him her matchless self, her all, 
To have, and hold, and keep, and be his own. 

Love's unreluctant sacrifice and thrall. 



61 



BE STILL, MY HEART. 

Be still, my heart, for it may be 
His heart will not respond to thee. 
Be still! be still! thy pulse beats wild — 
What if it beat to be beguiled? 

Be still, my heart, lest his beat not 
In unison, and all forgot. 
In unloved loneliness and pain, 
Thou shalt have beat for him in vain. 

Be still! — ah, what is this I hear? 
That I, my heart, to him am dear? 
Dearer than all the world beside? 
Beat fast, my heart, with joy and pride ! 



62 



CAROLINE. 

That frankest face of youthful days — 

Her heart, her every thought, was in it — 
On which in memories I gaze. 

Although I dared not try to win it. 
Shines clear, each perfect feature limned, 

And framed within a Quaker bonnet. 
With red lips and brown eyes undimmed, 

Fit subject for a loving sonnet. 

Fair Caroline, are you not still 

Somewhere upon this rolling planet. 
Though all unconscious of the thrill 

PvCnewed where your dear face began it? 
And do you think of Berry Lane 

In which we met? and think of Johnny, 
Who worshiped you with tender pain 

When sweet sixteen, and O so bonny ! 

And how, when we two standing last 

In spelling-school, I missed ''omniscient" 
That you might win ? The glance you cast, 

And blush, were my reward sufficient. 
My manhood fancies, roving free, 

Now picture you beside another. 
With face like that young face I see — 

A Caroline who calls you '' Mother." 

63 



BY SANDY BAY. 

The sun had set, the gibbous moon 

Uprose, looked down, 
Impearled the magic air of June, 

And bathed the town 
With all its dreaminess of light 

As, hand in hand, 
I walked with her that happy night 

Along the strand. 
The sands were soft beneath our feet. 

The slow waves sang 
Low lullabies with rippling beat, 

A church-bell rang. 

We little heard the waves and bell, 

And little saw 
The moon, so much there was to tell, 

So much to draw 
From shining eyes by looking in, 

So much to think. 
So blissful our one theme had been 

On Sandy's brink. 



64 



REMEMBERED ROSES. 

It was mid-afternoon of one day 
When, quietly stealing away, 
My lover went walking with me 
To a seat near a brook by a tree — 
To that he went walking with me. 

It was over the bridge of the brook, 
And I carried a rose and a book, 
But the book I neglected to read, 
And little the brook did I heed ; 
I cared not for brooks, or to read. 

I remember the bobolinks sang. 
Remember the cascades where sprang 
Foam-beads on their way to the river, 
Remember the leaves were aquiver, 
Remember a stretch of the river; 

Remember his taking my hand, 
Remember his glowing eyes, and — 
But I must not be telling the rest, 
Though that was the sweetest and best ; 
No, I must not be telling the rest — 

65 



Except that I wore a new ring 
When returning, and felt my heart sing, 
And he wore my rose for his own. 
And said that two others had blown 
On my cheeks, by his aid, for my own. 



THE KISS. 

When I confessed my love last night, 

My heart suffusing all my face, 
He sought love's first and holiest rite. 

And bent to me with tenderest grace 
Bent till our trembling lips had met 

And blent in the betrothal kiss : 
It thrills me, fills me, floods me yet — 

That baptism of our mutual bliss. 



66 



COME BACK. 

For thee I wait — O time, be fleet ! — 
Through wakeful nights and weary days, 

While fancy bears me to thy feet 

Where I may drink thy beauty's rays. 

Come back to me ; thou art my own, 
And I am lost without thy smile ; 

In crowds my heart is still alone, 
As if on some unpeopled isle. 

Come back ; thy will my will shall be, 

Thy thoughts my differing thoughts expel ; 

Thou art my other self — in thee 
My hopes, my joys, my being dwell. 

O why do storm-tossed oceans wide 
Our lives disturb, our loves defy, 

And longing heart from heart divide ? 
Come back ; thy other self am I. 



67 



PASSING BY. 

Her aureole of glimmering hair, 
How fit a crown and frame to wear 
For sky-blue eyes and rose-red lips, 
Which he who looks upon and sips 
With lover's gaze and lover's kiss, 
Should she benignly grant the bliss. 
Must feel the thrill as something more 
And sweeter than life gave before. 

The common mortal stands apart 
With humbled pride and quivering heart, 
And voice subdued to whisperings, 
And wonders at such perfect things. 
And if in some ripe age before, 
By striving faith exalted more. 
He may be worthy to draw nigh 
This earthly angel passing by. 



68 



THE SLEIGH-RIDE. 

Speed on, my horse ! Cling close, my sweet ! 

Nay, let me hold thee sure and fast, 
As now we round the curving street 

And feel the sharp touch of the blast. 

Though chill the air, our hearts are warm, 

For mine has melted into thine. 
As snow in sunlight after storm, 

Till mine is thine and thine is mine. 

We had our sombre storms of doubt, 
But glad assurance followed soon, 

And now no wintry winds without 
Disturb our peaceful inner June. 



61) 



A SUMMER SONG. 

When roses blush and green boughs sway, 

Distilling sweetest scents all day, 

If love delays let love begin ; 

Say thou to love, *' Come near, come in." 

What mean the voices of the birds 
In blending music without words, 
If not that time is ripe to win 
Love's joys by letting love come in? 

The flowery earth is more than fair, 
Love throbs in all the fragrant air, 
Forget the sorrow and the sin. 
Prepare thyself, let love come in. 

White clouds that fleck the upper sky 
Go by, but let not love go by. 
Much love is not which might have been ; 
Then say to love, '' Come in, come in." 



70 



DISCOVERY. 

Your eyes are like twin stars to-night, 
Your cheeks like sunsets glow. 

How came the color and the light? 
You need not tell — I know. 

I saw a wooer leave the door, 

I thought I heard a kiss, 
I marked the tender look he wore — 

I have your secret, miss ! 

Deny it not — his question asked, 

Nor yet your fond reply ; 
My little lady is unmasked, 

As long ago was I ! 



71 



DOBSON'S PROPOSAL. 

Miss Luftus was cozily sitting 

And knitting, her yarn on the floor, 

When Dobson approached and befitting- 
Ly knocked at Miss Luftus's door. 

Miss Luftus grows rosy with bkishes, 
And brushes her curls and her bows, 

With a glance at the mirror, and hushes 
Her growler, old Jowler, and goes 

To the door with a smile like the morning 
Adorning her mouth and her eyes. 

And then, as not knowing his warning, 
Coquettishly feigns a surprise. 

There brisk Mr. Dobson stood beaming, 
Though seeming to plead in his joy. 

With a far-away look, as if dreaming, 
So strange that Miss Luftus grew coy. 

"Walk in," said Miss Luftus, and turning. 
Cheeks burning, she handed a chair. 
While charmingly tender and yearning, 
Her face seemed to say, '' If you dare ! " 

72 



He looked at Miss Luftus with longing, 
And throngingly memories rushed, 

And he said to himself, *' 'Twould be wronging 
Us both not to ask her," and blushed. 

'' Ahem ! — dear Miss Luftus " — and stopping, 
And dropping his eyes to the floor. 
And also unconsciously propping 

His chair 'gainst a neighboring door — 

•'Will you be Mrs. Dob" here a crashing 

And smashing cut short the remark, 
And ended with thumping and splashing 
Below in the cellar and dark. 

A scream from Miss Luftus, a howling 
And growling from Jowler (the brute !) 

A rush down the stairway, where scowling 
Lay Dobson, bruised, briny, and mute. 

Miss Luftus gazed sorry, but merry. 
And very gay laughter broke out 

From lips that were red as a cherry. 
As Dobson lay there like a lout. 

^' Miss Luftus," he said with a twinkle 

And crinkle of fun in his face, 
"Excuse, if you please, this new wrinkle 

Of mine, and appearance and place. 

73 



*' A tumble down cellar should never 
Dissever two hearts that are one. 
Will you be Mrs. Dobson forever, 
Or while we live under the sun?" 

'• Forever !" responded Miss Luftus, 
*' Augustus, through tumbles and all. 
Who faithfully love us and trust us, 
Will love us no less when we fall." 



74 



A RURAL COURTSHIP. 

Near Buttermilk creek, in the town of Pogee, 

Dwelt Jenny, called " Jenny the fair; " 
And on top of the hill, by a butternut tree, 

Dwelt Reuben, the son of McNair. 

Now Jenny, she sewed, and she cooked, and she washed. 

The tidiest girl in the town ; 
And Reuben, he plowed, and he hoed, and he thrashed, 

And was strong, and healthy, and brown. 

When Reuben saw Jenny trip over the hill, 

Bright, rosy, and graceful, and sweet, 
He would pause at his work, with a sudden thrill, 

And murmur, " She cannot be beat." 

And Jenny would glance at the handsome youth, 

With shoulders so broad and strong, 
And linger a moment, and wish, in truth, 

It was proper to linger long. 

This Reuben was bashful, like many good boys, 

And Jenny was bashful too — 
A thing that disturbs but never destroys 

A love which is tender and true. 

75 



It chanced the two met by the side of the brook, 

On a radiant summer day, 
Where Jenny had sauntered to read a book. 

And Reuben to mow some hay. 

They had met many times, say a hundred or so. 

When neither knew what to do, 
Nor the words to speak, yet lingered, you know — 

These lovers tender and true. 

But now, when Jenny glanced upward and blushed, 

With the prettiest smile in the world. 
While the brook babbled low, and the song-birds gushed 

Glad music and flitted and whirled. 

The heart of Reuben throbbed fast but grew brave, 

And a great resolve made he, 
And then his sun-burnt face became grave. 

As he stood there under the tree. 

And he sat down near to Miss Jenny's side. 

And tried to look into her eye. 
And tried to speak, and again he tried. 

But could only stammer and sigh. 

And Jenny she waited and waited in vain, 

Till Reuben arose and ran, 
And seizing his idle scythe again. 

Mowed fierce like an angry man. 

76 



Then Jenny grew brave herself in turn, 

And stole up to Reuben unseen, 
And because her heart had not failed to discern, 

Said, "Reuben, speak out what you mean !" 

Then Reuben, he threw his scythe away 

A couple of yards or so, 
And turned, and standing as 'twere at bay, 

Just opened his arms, you know. 

And the very next moment the arms were filled 

With the prettiest girl in town, 
And the happy hearts together thrilled, 

And the fair cheek touched the brown. 



77 



OLD SWEETHEARTS. 

We used to walk, we two — my chum and I — 
When tired of Greek and mathematic signs, 

And all the text and reference books which try 
CoUegiates' souls, unto a grove of pines. 

This was behind the campus, and away 

From dusty dormitories, and from all 
The anxious waits and struggles of the day 

Before severe professors, short and tall. 

Those days among the pines were halcyon days, 
When each spoke out his inmost thought to each ; 

And even now I seem to see chum's face 
Illumined by the fervor of his speech. 

There we would listen to the winds and birds. 

And watch the sunlight glinting through the trees, 

And build imagined castles into words. 

And talk about our sweethearts and degrees. 

The sweetheart theme was dwelt upon with zest, 
And kept the leading place there in the wood, 

As with unwearied lips we would invest 

Our distant dears with all things sweet and good. 

78 



" My girl," said chum, " has dreamy eyes "—and then 
He'd linger long upon each luring charm 
And fancied charm, as many other men 

Are wont to do when young, and hearts are warm. 

*' My girl," said I — and then I did my best 
To paint her as the loveliest one of all. 
Worth wealth untold, although her interest 

In gold and lands, which men call wealth, was small. 

The years sped on, and college toils were past, 
And we two joined the whirl of active life, 

And ah ! we married other girls at last, 
Each sending each descriptions of his wife. 

Then business and domestic cares increased, 
And food and clothes for babies came to be 

A somewhat serious matter, and I ceased 
Awhile to write to him and he to me. 

But think you we forgot those lazy hours 

Beneath the pines, beyond the campus, where 

We romanced and exchanged such liberal dowers 
Of tender hopes in ease of college care ? 

Nay — half as vivid now as they were then 
They come sometimes into our busy lives 

In reminiscent reveries, and when 

Comparing those old sweethearts to our wives. 

79 



Chum said one day : "Good wives and true they've 
been, 

And dearer, surely, than had been the pair 
Which won our hearts at first, or seemed to win 

Them, in that we were young and they were fair." 

But can you blame me if, in stumbling down 
The rough descent of life, and gathering near 

The memories of that ancient college town, 
They cluster kindly round that other dear? 

She may be wedded to a millionaire 

Who owns some mines or railroads in the West, 
And if I should approach her silken chair. 

Might look on me as quite too plain a guest. 

Or she may be a maiden, fancy free. 

Housekeeper for a sister or an aunt. 
Opposed to men — especially to me — 

And somewhat prim, and angular, and gaunt. 

Or widow of the bright coquettish school, 

Fair, fat, and forty, and a trifle more. 
Whose glance can thrill and gracious arts can fool 

Of men at once from two to half a score. 

Best wishes, Madge, where'er may be your lot. 

Perchance, like me, you dream what might have been 
If love had not grown cold which seemed so hot 

When I was beardless and you seventeen. 

80 



VASSAR AND YALE. 

She came from Vassar, he from Yale, 
She rosy-fair, he swarthy-pale, 
Henceforth from college struggles free, 
Each having taken a degree, 
She sweet in muslin white and new, 
He athlete in the boating crew. 

They met and strolled ; the path they took 
Wound southward by a meadow brook 
Bordered with clover ; daisies nigh. 
Lifted their star-bloom to the sky, 
And nodded as they passed along 
Where robins overflowed with song, 
And orioles flashed, and swallows dipped, 
And bees the clover honey sipped. 

He said : ''Do you recall the day, 
Ten years ago, when we, at play. 
Promised in childhood's prattling speech — 
' Twas you proposed it — each to each ?" 

81 



She blushed a crimson blush just then, 
And thought, perhaps, of other men. 
" O, what a pretty bird !" said she, 
And ran ahead as if to see. 
He could but hasten to her side. 
But maiden coquetry and pride 
Delayed with skillful Vassar art 
The question burning in his heart. 

" The promise often years ago," 

Said he, " now binds us not, I know." 

" The promise? — what was that?" said she. 

As if she asked forgetfully. 

"It matters not," she added quick — 

" See there ! Look there !" Transparent trick 

To parry still his fond intent. 

For all her face was eloquent. 

He seized her hand. "Look here !" he said, 

" Not there, and mark my words instead. 

A mo — familiar verb to you ; 

Say, Vassar, can you love me, too ?" 

Again the crimson tide arose — 

She could not check it if she chose. 

"Ten years," she thought, "and now twice ten," 
And said: " First-stroke [a sly glance], when 
We pledged ourselves, ten years ago, 
We were too young — we did not know ; 

82 



But promises are sacred things, 
And mine to you, as memory brings 
Its meaning clear, constrains me still, 
Because I ought, to say, I will." 

Her eyes were fonder than her words ; 
And clover, daisies, bees, and birds. 
As he bent over, vanished all — 
And they'll be wedded in the fall. 



83 



TO JULIET. 

' Twas in the play : you asked, you know, 
"O wherefore art thou Romeo?" — 
You as JuHet, for Shakespeare's sake, 
And I your Romeo, late awake. 

I was not Romeo, Juliet, 
Nor you Juliet, and yet — and yet — 
I've sometimes almost wished it was 
Such as we feigned, because — because — 
' Twould be much better than a play 
To hear you tremulously say, 
With lips sincere and cheeks aglow, 
" O wherefore art thou Romeo?" 

And now I think on't, if you should, 
(How easy to quite wish you would !) 
And say it on this first of May, 
(So fitly bright, being your birthday. 
And, too, for which a fairer queen 
In May-pole times was seldom seen,) 
Ah, if you should, Juliet, Juliet, 
I could forgive, but not forget ! 



84 



MOONLIGHT. 

PROM THE GERMAN OF T. RESA, 

Tree-tops are tossing against the sky, 

Nightingales chant in the thickets beneath, 

Moonbeams quiver, and glimmering lie 
In a silvery mist on copse and heath. 

A wood-horn sounds from the valley, and fills 
My soul with a sorrowful-sweet despair. 

Till at last its stubborn pride distills 
Even to blissful longings there. 

In the glistening night, in the sheen of the moon, 
My veins dilate, and my swift blood warms. 

So nigh, so nigh is my lover, so soon 
Shall I feel the clasp of his ardent arms. 



85 



THE TRYST. 

FROM THE GERMAN OF T. RESA. 

The evening breeze soughs through the trees, 
And autumn scents are in the air ; 

The moon is bright, my feet are light 
To meet my bHss — I'll soon be there. 

How sweet this wood ! — ah, life is good 
As here with love my hot cheeks glow ; 

Far strikes the bell, all things impel 
Me on — I faster, faster go. 

His horse I hear, it gallops near; 

And now he treads the lessening space. 
I run — I glide — arms open wide; 

O tender kiss ! O close embrace ! 



86 



GIRLS. 

In tracing back time's raveled thread 
For memories of the quick and dead, 
I see uncounted forms of grace, 
With changing beauties on each face. 
They gUde along with airy feet, 
They talk and laugh in accents sweet ; 
They glance and gaze with shining eyes, 
To which the heart in throbs repHes. 
I see their silken tresses fly 
In the soft breeze as they pass by ; 
I see on every cheek where glows 
The blending Hly and the rose. 

These forms of grace that come to me, 
That come and pass enchantingly, 
With shining eyes and airy feet. 
And faces fair, and accents sweet, 
And tresses which the soft wind blows, 
And cheeks of lily and of rose, 
And sparkling also through the years 
With dimpling smiles and dewy tears, 
Are girls ! and other girls as fair 
Still meet and charm us everywhere. 
Still keep alive the old romance. 
With beauty, grace, and shining glance. 

87 



A SONG FOR EAST HILL. 

The white streams leap and green trees bend 
To wooing valley far below, 
Where wooing lovers come and go 
By larger streams which lakeward flow — 

They leap and bend as we ascend 

East Hill, East Hill. 

Pure is the hillside air, and pure 

The water of the gushing spring, 
And pure the sunbeams glimmering 
Through leaves where birds with breezes sing. 

As high and higher the glad hours lure 

Us up East Hill. 

The rill to yonder peaceful home 

Bears cooling blessedness and life, 
While further from the noisy strife 
With which the smoky town is rife, 

We upward nearer heaven roam 

Along East Hill. 

O we will while the day away 

Among the hillside beauties here, 
Nor let disturbing fret nor fear, 
Nor gloomy memory come near, . 

As in these goodly groves we stray 

Upon East Hill. 

88 



A SONG FOR THE ST. LAWRENCE. 

MUSIC BY MARY F. BUNNELL. 

Away ! away ! the golden day 

Shines brightly on the river, 
And time beguiles where happy isles 

Rest peacefully forever, 

And smilingly forever, 

Invitingly forever. 
Where isles of green o'erlook the sheen 

Of fair St. Lawrence river, 
The silver sheen round isles of green 

On broad St. Lawrence river. 

Now dipping oar recedes the shore, 

And on the restless river 
We gayly ride, we bound and glide, 

While sunbeams flash and quiver. 

Around us flash and quiver, 

From billows flash and quiver, 
And all is bright, and care is light 

Along St. Lawrence river, 
And care is light, and all is bright 

Upon St. Lawrence river. 

89 



Ah, fair the isles adorned with smiles 

For the caressing river; 
We float between, 'neath branches green, 

And wish to float forever, 

To dream and float forever, 

Forgetfully forever, 
With line and boat to dream and float 

On blue St. Lawrence river, 
To dream and float with line and boat 

Adovvn St. Lawrence river. 

Shall we forget the friends we met 

And loved upon the river? 
Its songs and dreams, and changing gleams? 

No, never, never, never ; 

We shall forget them never, 

We can forget them never — 
The thousand joys, with sweet alloys. 

Of dear St. Lawrence river. 
With sweet alloys, the thousand joys 

Of Thousand-Island river. 



90 



THE HAPPY ISLANDS. 

WRITTEN FOR HADDOCK'S "PICTURESQUE ST. LAWRENCE. 

There, where a Thousand Islands sleep, 
Come pulsing from Niagara's leap 
The blended lakes with tireless sweep — 
Vast lakes which float the grain and ore 
Of mighty states from shore to shore, 
A thousand billowy miles and more. 

'Tis there the centering waters meet 
In rush sublime and beauty sweet, 
Which we with happy thrills shall greet — 
We who in fevered towns have sighed 
For green and watery spaces wide. 
And Nature's murmuring love beside. 

Ah, here they are ! The river here. 
Swift, slow, tumultuous, crystal-clear. 
Lapping the islands which uprear 
Their rocky heads, with crests of trees. 
Has sure enchantments to release 
The heart and change its pain to peace. 

91 



Hail ! River of the Thousand Isles, 

Which so enchants and so beguiles 

With countless charms and countless wiles ; 

Flow on unpent, forever free 

And pauseless, to the ocean sea 

Which belts the globe's immensity. 

Not there our goal. Here, here we stay 
Anion g the islands green and gray, 
Nor strive, but idly float and play 
Along the river's glints and gleams, 
And yield to reveries and dreams 
With which the quickened fancy teems. 

Here, where the airs are always pure. 
And wave and earth and sky allure. 
And whisper, " Let the best endure," 
The wiser thoughts and instincts grow, 
Hearts truer feel and surer know. 
And kindle to a tenderer glow. 

St. Lawrence river, here we rest, 
And here we end our wandering quest 
To reach the Islands of the Blest. 
Where Nature's sweetest sweets abound 
Are sacred waters, sacred ground — 
The Earthly Paradise is found ! 



92 



YOU AND HE. 

Your speech is smooth, with accent of the scholars, 
Your manners grace and elegance combine, 

You live in style, you do not lack for dollars, 
You seem to keep within the moral line. 

He stammers sadly, and cannot uncover 

By wordy skill the thoughts which move his soul ; 

Uncouth his garb and gait, yet mark him lover 
Of all the virtues, and his conscience whole. 

We heard you stab him with your critic lances, 
Because not pleasing to your ear and eye, 

And saw you cast on him your scornful glances, 
So that he turned away with blush and sigh. 

An hour before, with prompt and noble daring. 

He rushed through flames and saved a burning boy, 

Not pausing for himself, or even caring. 

Then fled the crowd's applause and mother's joy. 

You have been known to praise the saints and heroes 
In many a flowery phrase, redundantly. 

Nor less denounce the cowards, knaves, and Neroes 
Who smirch the page of human history. 

93 



But what are words which never fruit in action, 
And purpose high, and brave self-sacrifice? 

Which ill conceal a vain self-satisfaction, 
And insincerities akin to lies? 

Your life is show ; his life is mostly hidden ; 

You plan for self; his conscience is his guide; 
And though to him your graces are forbidden, 

Are those less precious which his flesh-wraps hide? 

Do you or he see clearer, deeper, higher? 

How does your glitter with his truth compare ? 
Do you or he more struggle and aspire ? 

Which unclothed spirit would appear more fair? 



94 



YOU AND SHE. 

We do not know — we only blindly wonder — 
Why wisdom fails and turns to foolishness 

In him who steps or him who stumbles under 
Your subtle spells, O matchless sorceress. 

For, every captive who is lured to follow 
Your blandishments toward elusive bliss, 

Must find at last the heart behind is hollow, 
And each enticement like a Judas kiss. 

You bask in splendor and in adulation, 

You bend the world of fashion to your will. 

Your smile gives fame, your frown gives degradation. 
Your cruel counterfeit of love can kill. 

Some homes are blasted, and some hearts are broken ; 

But what care you for suffering or sin, 
Who wear — ay, let the bitter words be spoken — 

The guise of heaven to serve the devil in? 

There walks across the shadow of your palace, 

O swiftly blighting but enchanting lie, 
One who has toiled from childhood without malice. 

Or wishing envy, or complaining sigh. 

95 



She breaks no hearts, but rather tries to mend them ; 

Her love has grown until she is as brave 
To help the needy helpless and defend them 

As any knight where battle-banners wave. 

At eve, with velvet step, though worn and weary, 
She goes to sing sweet songs and pray sweet prayers 

Where sick ones lie, and smooth their pillows dreary, 
And leave the twilight of the smile she wears. 

If God is just, and there is compensation 
In yon hereafter for the lives here spent, 

Where some shall find rewarding elevation, 
And others find retributive descent, 

How then will rank and fare our titled beauty, 
Who treads on stricken hearts Vv'ith cold disdain ? 

And how our humble maid whose task is duty, 
And loves too much to sense her wearing pain? 



96 



DREAMS AND HOPES. 

I dreamed a song flowed out of space 
This way, and by some special grace 
Its perfect measures reached the earth — 
A song like that at Jesus' birth. 

Again a choir of holy ones, 
Robed in the radiance of the suns, 
Was near to ravish human ears 
With music of the upper spheres. 

I dreamed great hopes and faiths arose, 
And strength and wisdom grew in those 
Who heard, inspiring every will 
Its passing duties to fulfill. 

'Twas but a midnight dream, I know, 
But earth's best music lifts us so, 
It seemed to dimly prophesy 
Our mid-day raptures by and by. 

If we may fancy better things 

Than all to which the fond heart clings, 

What exaltations may be ours ! 

What increase of our faltering powers ! 

97 



A LENTEN MEDITATION. 

When, penitent, we struggle to be free 

From our infirmities, and live superior lives 
Above the crowd, where inner purity 

Is like the light, and no gross thought survives, 
The imps of sense and passion hold us back, 

So that we stop and doubt beside the way, 
Or take the downward path, from conscious lack 

Of the exalting strength of yesterday. 

Now could we clasp some downward-reaching hand, 

Warm with the magnetism of helpfulness, 
And hear a voice of cheer and kind command. 

Lifting and calling us to new success, 
How the faint heart would bound, and strength revive. 

Our clamorous tempters weaken and grow dumb, 
And every fibre of our being strive 

With surer confidence to overcome. 

We trace the pages of historic lore, 

Where saints and heroes and great thinkers are. 
And look the world's progressive present o'er, 

And glance out wishingly to sun or star, 

98 



In quest of lives to which we should aspire, 
And find but one — the spotless Nazarene. 

Up toward thee, above these taints and higher, 
Help, help us in our weakness, Christ unseen. 

Remote art thou in human history. 

Yet art thou not to longing ones as near 
As once thou wert to men of Galilee, 

And while we agonize wilt thou not hear. 
And answer so that we may understand, 

And when we hope again, but hesitate, 
Feel something like a sympathizing hand 

Lift us from the low level where we wait ? 



99 



AFTER EASTER. 

Were you chastened in Lent ? Did you wrestle and pray, 
While repenting of sin? or make pretense of prayer? 

And now do you mean to be reckless and gay ? 
To defraud and oppress ? to dissemble and swear ? 

You seemed quite religious one day in each seven. 

Was your worship of God only worship with lips ? 

And while you were mouthing for treasures in Heaven, 

Did thought run on such things as "corners" and 
"tips?" 

The rumor was false that the devil is dead, 

And when on Ash Wednesday he whisked out of sight, 

A scorner remarked that the horns of his head 

Could be seen by sharp eyes in the chancel's dim light. 

He may have observed you, and crept to your side 

In his noiseless, enticing, invisible way, 
And discerningly found he could shrink up and hide 

In your welcoming heart, as you stood up to pray ; 

Or read with much unction the words of the prayer 
From a book richly bound under claspings of gold. 

With a studiedly solemn or sanctified air, 
And to aid it, occasional eyeballs uprolled. 

100 



We've tried to discover where some draw the line 
Between saints and sinners, in church and outside, 

But they draw it so faint, or they draw it so fine, 
If they draw it at all, we can fix no divide. 

Is saintship Lent-keeping, with fasts and restraints, 

And reading from prayer-books, and sparsely, some- 
times, 

Referring to sayings of Biblical saints, 

And giving of riches some beggarly dimes? 

Ah ! many we know who are humble and pure, 
And never stop loving and serving the Lord 

With faithful, unselfish endeavor. Is your 
Post-Lenten religion with theirs in accord? 

If Easter has ended your possible quest 

For more of the spirit of Christ in your lives, 

It may not be proved, but may safely be guessed, 
Your faith will not save you, nor that of yolir wives. 

And now an impertinent question to you. 
Fair lady who sat near the end of the aisle : 

Did Clovenfoot also glide into your pew. 

And wreathe your ''Amen " with a satisfied smile ? 

It was after you glanced at the new Easter hat 
Of your rival in piety, beauty, and dress? 

Did you or the cunning old devil do that ? 

Or both ? But no matter— you need not confess. 

101 



The service was very near over just then, 

And Lent disappearing, and therefore, of course, 

After forty days' penance, that final ''Amen," 

And the smile, and the glance — well, they might have 
been worse. 



OUR KING. 

No ivory throne or sceptered gold was there. 
No jeweled coronet for him to wear; 
No stately retinue with clanging swords 
Went when he went, no edict-bearing words 
Issued from him. And yet he was obeyed 
And reverenced, and base men were afraid 
From self-conviction when they saw his face 
And heard his voice, and tried to be less base. 
For he was king by a diviner right 
Than that of lineage and armed might — 
The right inherent in the regal soul. 
Commanding subtlest forces of control. 



102 



MAGDAtEN. 

"Neither do I condemn thee; sin no more," 
Spake Jesus to the one accounted vile, 
We know not with what wealth of gracious smile 

And gracious tone, to cheer her and restore. 

But angrily he called down woe on woe 
Upon the strict and solemn Pharisees, 
Flaunting rich robes, with wide phylacteries. 

And praying publicly long prayers for show. 

Who followed Jesus, braving hostile men. 
And poured out costly oil upon his head. 
And kneeling, on his feet hot tear-drops shed? 

Not Pharisees, but Mary Magdalen. 

Courage! poor outcasts, sorrowing for sin: 
The pity of the Master is for you, 
Who knows as when in Palestine he knew. 

Whatever the disguise, the heart within. 

O women beautiful, and pure, and sweet. 

Spurn not your sisters, though they sadly err, 
Nor Pharisaic formalists prefer. 

Remember who with tears washed Jesus' feet. 

103 



CLOSER TO NATURE. 

On thy sweet bosom, Nature, round and flushed 

With bounteous nourishment, we fain would rest 
A little while, by thy caresses hushed 

To dreaming sleep; for we have been distressed 
By much unworthiness, and would by thee 

Be soothed. Enfold us now, that we may hear 
Thy finer harmonies, and lovingly 

Confide thy secrets to the longing ear. 

These perfumed hills and vales, these mottled skies, 

Dispense their blessedness, and wave away 
The morbid fancies which have shut our eyes 

And hearts from God, so that we could not pray. 
But lead us, Nature, to thy holiest shrine. 

Hard by the glories of the upper heaven. 
Where self may self forget, and fires divine 

Burn evermore for those who would be shriven. 



104 



IN MAY MOONLIGHT. 

O the misty, mellow light 
Of the moon-illumined night ! 
How it floods the woody hills, 
And the happy valley fills; 
How it fills the ambient air, 
Skyward, earthward, everywhere; 
How it hallows everything 
With its pearly glimmering. 
O the misty, mellow light 
Of the moon-illumined night ! 

Silent is the air and sweet. 
Let us walk beyond the street; 
Let us walk beside the stream 
Which reflects the gentle gleam 
Of our mystic satellite, 
Up between us and the white, 
Mid-sky nebulous array 
Of the starry Milky Way. 

As we walk with reverent feet. 

Shall we songfuUy repeat, 

In the minute's interim, 

Some inspired and praiseful hymn 

105 



To the all-compelling Cause 

Of whatever is and was — 

Lives, worlds, spaces, night, and day ? 

Shall we sing, or shall we pray? 

Do we wonder, do we doubt. 
As our minds reach out and out. 
If behind us or before 
There is any bounding shore 
To the dizzy space and time 
Of the universe sublime? 
There the tides of being flow; 
There the angels come and go ; 
There the suns, from hand divine. 
Sing forever as they shine. 
O the ways by man untrod ! 
O the mystery of God ! 

Why may not, to you and me, 
Sweetly, swiftly, silently, 
Through the beauty of the night, 
Come some spirit all alight 
With immortal life and thought, 
Such as we have vainly sought, 
Matter-bound as we are here 
To this spinning little sphere? 

But perchance it is not best. 
And that earthy men are blest 

106 



More by waiting patiently 
For the good that is to be, 
Than by revelations high, 
Spirit-brought from yonder sky. 

And we turn to watch the gleam 
Of the moon-illumined stream, 
And to listen to the sound 
Of its flowing and its bound, 
Vaguely wishing that the peace 
Which it brings might never cease. 

And again we raise our eyes 
To the glory of the skies, 
To renew our wondering 
At the stars and everything 
Which may be in the abyss, 
With the sorrow and the bliss 
Of each poised and peopled world 
Through the mighty circuits whirled. 
Then a sudden impulse brings 
Us once more to human things, 
And we find ourselves, and seem 
As awaking from a dream. 

O the misty, mellow light 
Of the moon-illumined night ! 
And beyond it is the day. 
Shall we sing, or shall we pray? 

107 



THE DEACON'S PRAYER. 

He stood and prayed with careful taste 
And tone, and no forgetful slips 
Of feeling crossed his well-drilled lips, 

Nor made he awkward pause nor haste. 

He did not boast of righteousness. 
Like Judah's haughty Pharisee, 
But proud of his humility. 

Did general sinfulness confess. 

His words were placid in their How, 
As if he relished well their sound, 
And righteousness did more abound 

In him than those who heard could know. 

And when his smooth "Amen" was said, 
And, satisfied, the deacon ceased, 
His face declared that he was pleased. 

And fancied that his soul was fed ! 



108 



JOHN JONES. 

John Jones was filled up to the brim 
With good cheer, which he scattered in 
showers 

Of blessings; he couldn't be grim 

Any more than the thrushes and flowers. 

His body was portly and strong, 
And above it the truthfullest eyes 

Were giving the lie all day long 
To the wicked old father of lies. 

John Jones was a resolute man 
In what he believed to be right. 

And earnest, and what he began 
To do he would do with his might. 

Yet none could be gentler than he, 
Or kinder to woman and child, 

And seldom a man do you see 

More brave, yet more peaceably mild. 

He seems to come back to me now. 

Like a broad gleam of sunshine in cloud. 

With high and benevolent brow. 
And voice ringing merry and loud. 

109 



But no — I do not see John Jones, 

For alas and alas, he is dead ! 
And under the sod are his bones 

Where "ashes to ashes" was said. 

You did not suppose, as you looked 

At first on the body he wore, 
That the angel of record had booked 

Him as sure for the Shining Shore. 

And yet, when you looked again, 

And caught the warm light in his eyes. 

And listened his heart's refrain. 

You knew he was ripe for the skies. 

Such, neighbors and friends, was John Jones 
Every day in the week and the year. 

We fitly may soften our tones, 

And drop on his tombstone a tear. 



110 



CASTLE-BUILDING. 

I built a castle into the air; 

But air is only a film of earth, 
Too thin for the height of my castle there, 

And too confined for my castle's girth. 
So I tore it down in my mind's disdain 

Of its littleness, and essayed to fly 
The length and breadth of an ether plane 

That should stretch beyond and underlie 
All the farthest rounds of the Milky Way, 

And the whole, from edge to edge, I chose 
For my castle's base, that I might array 

The inner court which the walls should close 
With a million stars, and ov^ercast 

Between them a many-pictured view 
Of eons future and eons past. 

In symbols of wonderful shape and hue. 
But I could not finish my castle — no; 

For, looking beyond its mighty base, 
I saw that however its walls should grow. 

It would be but a mote in the boundless space. 



Ill 



ETERNAL LIFE. 

'Tis strength to strength and height to height 
Of pauseless change which builds our heaven, 

New faith when faith is lost in sight, 
New strife however long we've striven. 

Eternal life's eternal growth. 

These budding wings may span the skies 
Sometime, and whither soar He know'th 

Who fires our hearts, who bids us rise. 

The journey's but begun. Sometime 
We may, with sharpened vision, see 

Beneath us traversed worlds sublime. 
Though not above to what shall be. 



112 



FRIENDSHIP. 

To have a friend — assurance reassured 

By tests of time, and visible increase 
Of steadfastness, that he is not allured 

Away from thee, and will not, cannot cease 
From generous judgment and confiding trust, 

In spite of waywardness, and slanderous tales, 
And spaces wide, and separate aims — this must 

Be for the heart the wealth which most avails. 

Vultures are plucking thick along the path 

Of struggling manhood, tearing out its flesh 
To gorge their greed, while the red sword of Wrath 

Makes cruel wounds, and bleeds old wounds afresh ; 
And worse, Indifference sits in his den 

Of selfishness, and looks on human woes 
With stony eyes, as if men were not men. 

Or while they cry for help turns back to doze. 

Then, when the heart is sore, and Doubt grown black 
Draws near, if Friendship's tender eye is seen, 

The evil thing is frightened and turns back. 
The sun bursts out, the desert spots are green. 



113 



THE VIGIL. 

At last the dawn is in the cast, 
And soon will bring its royal feast 
Of rosy clouds and joyful songs, 
For which the sleepless sick one longs. 

All night I have been waiting here 
Beside my fever-stricken dear, 
And watched her sad but patient face. 
Whose beauty pain cannot erase. 

I heard her whisper in the night 
My name, and saw a loving fright 
Of loss o'erspread her features' charms, 
As she held up her thin white arms. 

But when I clasped her little hand 
And spake to make her understand 
My presence, more than elocjuent 
Grew her brown eyes with calm content. 

O hasten hither, laggard day, 
And laggard health, and take away 
My weary one's unceasing pain; 
Too long I watch and wait in vain. 

114 



Come, rosy clouds and singing birds, 
Come, humming bees and lowing herds 
Of morn — come quick, to soothe and heal 
The darling by whose bed I kneel. 



THE GREAT. 

Where are the great? We are too near to know 

The greatest of our great ones ere they go. 

But, looking backward from a higher place — 

Time's mount of vision — lo ! afar we trace 

The ranker growth where they have ploughed the soil 

And sown the seed, often with unpaid toil. 

Here at our very door may be to-day 
The awkward man at work or boy at play 
Whose growing thoughts, evolved in silent hours, 
Shall rouse mankind and double half their powers 



115 



RICHARD REALF. 

A singer came, a singer true and tender, 
Whose voice and pen interpreted his heart; 

Who, loving truth, loved also to defend her 
With knightly daring and poetic art; 

Who, seeking and discerning the occasions 
When liberty or country was at stake. 

Scorned all the cowardly and mean evasions 
Which weak and unheroic men would make; 

Who saw unnumbered beauties that lay hidden 
From common eyes, in nature and in man. 

And heard uimumbered melodies forbidden 
To common ears since melodies began. 

And when he sang it seemed as birds would listen, 
Stilling their notes to catch a strain so rare. 

And morning dew-drops feel its thrill and glisten 
More brightly in the scented morning air. 

Men heard the singer with a kind of wonder. 
And women wept and worshiped at his song. 

Because within the music's form, or under. 
Such strangely plaintive minors ran along; 

IIG 



Minors that echoed with regret and sorrow, 
Which strong souls may not always rise above, 

And ardent longings for a better morrow, 
And also faith, and penitence, and love. 

At last, alas! our sweetly singing poet. 

Cowed by earth's jarring discords and alarms, 

Yielded and flung himself — too well we know it — 
From them and us to Death's receiving arms. 

But as he fell his final song was heard here. 
Of pleading: "Silence! he is in his grave; 

Greatly he suffered, greatly, too, he erred here, 
But broke his heart in trying to be brave."* 



* Last woi-ds of Realfs last poem, written just before his 
cide. 



suicide. 



117 



WE SEE IN PART. 

The best of life — all beauty, sweet and free, 
Supplies for varying wants, means for defense, 

Kindly responses to the constant plea 
Of suffering, are grounds for confidence. 

But puzzling problems rise when, looking forth, 

We see unequal good, unequal ill, 
Distributed to worthlessness and worth. 

As by some loveless or capricious will. 

There lives a man with wealth of lands and gold, 
And purchased power, and purchased praise, and all 

Luxurious things, and in the midst a cold. 

False semblance of a heart, shrunken and small. 

'Tis said this semblant heart, which chills men so. 
And gives to his gray eye its scornful stare. 

And robs his face of every generous glow. 
Is a last dividend — the devil's share. 

That by the contract made the man must lie 
In word and deed, and put on pious masks, 

And hold each little fast, and heed no cry 
For sympathy, and shun no cruel tasks. 

118 



Meanwhile he claims the honors of success, 
And hears assent from many a fawning voice, 

Although all gold is infinitely less 

Than one warm heart bartered in such a choice. 

His hapless neighbor, more distrait than wise, 
Is moved to ask, with angry tone and glance, 

Impatiently, as urging quick replies, 

If right be wrong and providence be chance. 

There is within his breast a burning pain 

Which wrings the solecisms from his white lips — 

A pain born slow of struggles counted vain, 
And unrewarded loves, and hurts, and slips. 

The man of golden-plated sins goes by 

In lordly splendor and with lordly air. 
And justice in the other questions why 

Wrong prospers so, while right must groan and bear. 

Best men at times will half forget their God, 
Because they cannot see as He can see, 

Who hides, 'tis said, the purpose of His rod 
That faith may grow to what it ought to be. 

We walk here gropingly, and life is brief, 
And causes move remote from their event; 

We may not measure passing joy and grief 
As final recompense and punishment. 

119 



The shadows and the counterfeits of things 
Appear as substance, and our torpid ears 

Hear not the whispers and the rustling wings 
Of bending angels, smiling at our fears. 

But in the far and fair eternities 

Our better selves may better know and share 
The Mind Supreme, and pierce the mysteries 

Now veiling glories which we could not bear. 



A CLEAR NIGHT. 

See the resplendent skies ! How more than vast 
Their stars and spaces are, as in our rut 
Here on a planet speck, with bantam strut 

We blink and boast, forever to recast 

Our shreds of truth in system, creed, and plan 
We poor barbarians to the coming man ! 



120 



GIRLS AND BOYS. 

READ AT THE DEDICATION OF A CHILDREN'S PAVILION IN 
HIGHLAND PARK, ROCHESTER, N. Y. 

Let age be meek and serve, to-day, 
Its pride and arrogance repent. 
In contact with this rich event 
Of ripened wish and purpose blent 

To honor innocence at play. 

Thanks, generous givers, that for those 
Dear prattlers not so far from birth 
As to have lost their native worth 
Among the slums and taints of earth, 

This park's pavilioned shrine uprose; 

For those, and not the overwise. 

With senses dulled to birds and brooks 
By mental ghosts and moral crooks, 
Or lurking dry-rot caught from books — 

A shrine of joy, not sacrifice. 

So, festively we consecrate 

To girls and boys this structure fair. 
Their trusting sport in this pure air 
Is better than our doubting prayer. 

Their chatter than our harsh debate. 

121 



Men, women, who await v/ith fear 
Life's sure decline and final day, 
Watch you the children while they play; 
Their faith may drive your doubt away 

As you imbibe their spirit here. 

Have we not pinioned them in rules 
Too stern, and chided cruelly, 
Because, half-blind, we failed to see 
That they were nearer God than we, 

With all our learned sects and schools? 

But now the kinder method grows. 
And love is more the leading string, 
As witnesses this offering, 
Which men close-linked to nature bring 

Where nature sweetly sings and glows. 

Breathe finer scents, ye Highland flowers. 
With lovelier flush; chirp, warble, trill. 
Ye birds; O sun, throb deep and fill 
With rarest rays this templed hill 

Of futures thick with happy hours. 

Fly lower, angels, if you poise 
Unseen up yonder in the blue; 
This is for mortals most like you ; 
Here why not visit earth anew, 

And bless, like Christ, the girls and boys? 

122 



Come down, and all of us refine 

With gracious influences, brought far 
And swift from some superior star; 
Come, make us other than we are — 

Age, youth, and childhood more divine. 



BY THE RIVER. 

Here are the ceaseless flow and ceaseless sound 

Of waters, in the rapids rushing white, 
Then slowly eddying through depths profound. 

With mellower voice, and throwing rippled light 
In gleams and sparkles where the southern breeze 

Plays on the surface; and along the shore 
Are broken images of the tall trees. 

They fain would look and listen o'er and o'er 
Who know the alchemy of the inner sense, 

Which may transmute to golden dreams and hopes 
The river's beauty and its eloquence. 

The landscape's wealth of woods and daisied slopes. 



123 



QUATRAINS. 



SHAKESPEARE. 



In Shakespeare's presence, where we pause amazed 
At the unmeasured orbit of his thought, 

We shrink to pigmies, vain and overpraised. 

Low-born though titled, and though schooled, untaught. 



EMERSON. 



Leaping tradition's walls, beneath green trees 
He walked with happy looks, enlarged and free, 

And frightened formalisms with prophecies. 
Insights sublime, and faith's philosophy. 



TENNYSON. 



So far and clear he saw, so well he heard, 
Such harmonies he found in sky and earth, 

That wisdom-music winged each rhythmic word. 
And scattered faith o'er wastes of skeptic dearth. 

RUSKIN. 

He who gave Turner fame, with words for paint 
Made Turner's canvas dull beside his page. 

Which glowed with nature, and, like heart of saint. 
With ecstasies, and pains, and holy rage. 

124 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

A buoyant heart flushing the clearest brain, 
At home ahke in workshop, court, and hall, 

His Yankee shrewdness matched each blue-blood strain, 
And France for us responded to his call. 



THACKERAY. 

Wielding with sturdy grace his satire-blade. 

He saw our social shams and stabbed them through, 

And made the ranks of hypocrites afraid; 
Nor failed to show our honest virtues, too. 



PHILLIPS BROOKS. 

Intent on one great question, "What is truth?" he stood 
And strove to answer that for human hopes and needs. 

In glowing statement veined with fit similitude. 

And warming with his theme, forgot our human creeds. 

DANIEL WEBSTER. 

" There goes a king!" the London urchin said 

As Webster passed, whose presence charmed and awed 

More than his rolling eloquence, and led 
The fancy back to some Greek demigod. 

125 



WASHINGTON. 



Born for the hour, his was the happy fate 
To meet earth's noblest opportunity; 

He saw, and prudent daring made him great 
In fixing high our emblem of the free. 



LINCOLN. 



We doubted him; for where was ever found 
Such contrast of uncomeliness without 

And comely strength within, the whole world round? 
But soon his smiling patience killed the doubt. 



CARLYLE. 



The bravest cynic yet, and manliest, 

Battling with cant and all unrighteous things; 

Large-brained, hot-hearted, scowling from unrest; 
A wholesome scold, a lifting force with stings. 



MATTHEW ARNOLD. 

Which shall we choose — his essays or his verse? 

The exaltation of his spirit flows 
Alike from each, far-spreading to disperse 

The critic-flies and men who strut and pose. 

126 



DANTE. 

Read Dante's lines intense to better know 

How beauty may inspire the power and mood 

For greatest tasks, which through the ages glow, 
When beauty comes as gracious womanhood. 

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. 

Romancer weird ! What other ever wove 
Such sombre sweetness into perfect prose, 

Sitting in holy solitude? — so strove 

The Border Land's barred windows to unclose? 

BROWNING. 

Versed in all schools, athirst for the unseen. 
He wrote in measures noble English prose, 

Dropping rich gems of poesy between. 

Where passion flamed through masterful repose. 

LOWELL. 

Wisdom glides smiling through his verse and prose. 
Bright as the morn and fragrant as the rose — 
First poet-critic of Columbian soil. 
With midnight lamp which gave no smell of oil. 

127 



ward's statue of conkling. 

Here in perpetuating bronze our fighter born 
Stands up Apollo-like, his thin lips touched with scorn, 
Poised as of old when on some lofty theme intent. 
Conscious of mastery in grappling argument. 

CARDINAL NEWMAN. 

"Lead Thou me on, lead Thou me on," prayed he. 
Though drinking from all depths of learning's spring, 

And in the valley of humility 

Doubt was destroyed, and faith took steady wing. 

CONSOLATION. 

He who has reached the verge of some despair 
Through heaped-up failures, may remember this: 

The noblest living is to bravely bear, 

And out of sorrow springs the sweetest bliss. 

STUMBLING UPWARD. 

Honor to those of any creed or kin 

Who love the truth, stretch willing hands to aid, 
And though oft stumbling, loathe the crowning sin, 

Hypocrisy, and keep the upward grade. 

128 



THE FATHER. 

We knew what fire would blaze from his deep eye 
If disobedience followed his command, 
His swift detection of injustice planned, 

And searching questions for the reasons why. 

If contests raged, or dangers gathered nigh, 
With dauntless confidence he took his stand. 
And yielded not ; and yet a generous hand 

He stretched to foes in need, and would not lie, 

And cynic slanderers he would not hear. 
In time self-conquest led to calmer thought 
And larger charity, and there was praise 

From censurers, who then could but revere 
His honest manhood, although he had fought 
Them with fierce onslaughts in the earlier days. 



139 



THE MOTHER. 

Of lovely women she was loveliest 

To those in whom her image was enshrined, 
Whose every mood and impulse she divined, 

Who called her mother, and who long possessed, 

Within the home which she adorned and blest. 
The emanations of her heaven-taught mind 
And heaven-moved heart, affectionate, refined. 

Forgiving, patient, hopeful for the best. 

And they are still inspired by what she was — 
Her rounded life, by distance more revealed. 
Her smiles on worthiness, her silent tears 

At sight of wrong, her zeal for each good cause. 
Her sympathy for those who should be healed. 
How rich such heritage, to latest years ! 



130 



THE BROTHER. 

How sad, and more than sad, that autumn night 
When Hfe went out of him, and left the face — 
Before so eloquent in every place 
Where men had looked on it — without the light 
Diffusive it had shed. And he was dight 
With dignities like those of royal race, 
And subtle magnetisms, and rarest grace. 
He was so true, and aimed with such clear sight 
And forcefulness, that shams would flee or hide 
Before the weapons of his voice and pen. 
And yet he bent to girls and boys at play. 
And won their hearts, so that they ran beside 
Or followed him ; and from help-seeking men 
Of suffering lives he could not turn away. 



131 



THE SISTER. 

Yes, she was supple, light of foot, and fleet, 
In girlhood, as she rompingly would lead 
Through field and forest with unflagging speed. 
She climbed the apple-trees for a retreat, 
Where none might find her limbed and leafy seat, 
To read, and doze, and dream, with little heed 
Of all the prosy world's contentious greed. 
Then gayly laughed her searching friends to greet. 
When love, wifehood, and motherhood evolved, 
And knowledge new came with new sympathies, 
Her circle crowned her as domestic queen. 
With none to question what she had resolved, 
So well she reigned, so surely could appease 
With deftest tact, soft words, and smile serene. 



132 



ON MEMORIAL DAY. 

The years and centuries go by 

With stately tread, 
And men go by, and droop and die, 

And tears are shed. 

A few short breaths, a few short words. 

The smiles, the tears. 
The loves and longings, flowers and birds, 

And then the biers ! 

So be it ; for we think we know 

It must be well. 
Though why so swift men come and go 

We cannot tell. 

It must be well if God is good 

And infinite, 
And all that is not understood 

He did permit. 

We may not murmur and complain 

At what must be. 
But with the pleasure take the pain 

Resignedly. 

133 



The God who leads a man or state 

With mightiest hand, 
Leads well and wisely ; we must wait 

To understand. 

The days go by, the hours go by ; 

A few more hours, 
And you and I will also lie 

Beneath the flowers ; 

Will also lie, as lie to-day. 

Unconsciously, 
The men who fought the nation's way 

To victory — 

Brave men, whose daring deeds shall ring 

Through coming time 
In history and from bards who sing 

In strains sublime. 

'Twere well to kneel and kiss the sod 

Beneath their mold, 
With thankfulness to them and God 

For gains untold — 

Gains purchased nobly by their blood. 

And blossoming 
Into beatitudes of good. 

Like this sweet spring. 

134 



A NEW YEAR. 

The old year, dead, is known ; the new 

Is hidden, quite, 
Within the future from the view 

Of keenest sight. 

We ask ourselves what it may bring 

To you and me, 
As back it flies on ceaseless wing. 

No more to be — 

What pleasures, and what mingling pains, 

What loves and hates. 
What outer and what inner gains 

To men and states. 

Perhaps 'twill be the ripest year 

Of all the years. 
With largest wisdom, brightest cheer. 

And fewest fears. 

Perhaps the governments of men 

Will gather force 
For nobler management, and then 

High intercourse. 

135 



Perhaps, perhaps the kingliest man 

In wisdom's worth, 
Save Bethlehem's, since time began, 

Will spring to birth — 

A man whose universal mind 

And piercing ken 
Shall leave e'en Avon's bard behind, 

With other men. 

Perhaps all those sweet things and true 

Most needed here 
Will much abound for me and you 

This golden year. 



136 



IN THE MEADOW. 

Here on this greenest knoll of all the field, 
With dandelions starred and violets specked, 

We'll watch awhile for what has been concealed 
From us too long, our mad ambitions checked 

In nature's calm. Here, waiting silently. 
We may draw near the mystic life behind 

This verdure, which the coarsest eyes can see. 

If we could know how the sweet flowers are made. 

By slow accretions from the pregnant soil. 
And how their blending colors are inlaid 

For beauty, while they do not spin nor toil — 
Ah, if we could ! Ye hovering sprites of air. 

Lure us to that for which we long and sigh ; 
Whisper to us, unveil for us, prepare 

Us for new visions of the earth and sky. 



137 



UNDER THE APPLE TREES. 

From these old trees above me now 

Come bird-songs of a distant time, 
And each rough trunk and leafy bough 

Stirs memories, like a favorite rhyme. 

I knew them once as saplings small. 

And marked each spring their widening space, 
And their increasing gifts each fall. 

As seasons came and went apace. 

I lay myself upon the sod, 

Just where at noon I loved to lie, 
And see the yellow pippins nod 

Quick greetings to my upcast eye. 

Yonder between the same old trees 
The lake is gleaming brightly still, 

Whitecapped and rolled by landward breeze, 
As seen in youth from this old hill. 

And now some lengthened branches bend 
To touch and shade the ancient home, 

As if desiring to defend 

Its gray-haired inmates when I roam. 



138 



OUR INFANT WORLD. 

O wonder-working Science, what shall be 
Thy conquests in the realms of mystery 
In the dim future, when the hurrying years 
Have borne our infant world — which now appears 
To us so vast, but to the seraphim 
Who walk on heavenly heights, and cherubim, 
How small! — through eons numberless? 
What shall they be? Let no one dare to guess, 
Or be unmindful how ungrown and young 
The world to-day, how stammering its tongue, 
Striving to speak through us and all mankind 
The germs of knowledge in its infant mind. 



139 



THE SUICIDE. 

The man resolved to die, because to live 

With passionate wants unsatisfied was woe, 
There in his life's eclipse by self, with "give" 

His constant heart-cry, all too blind to know 
His will's base cowardice, and need to fight 

Instead of fall, when thousands sighed for aid. 
As if the universe, to serve a plight. 

Should change its course for one faint soul, afraid 
To live without what it had not deserved, 

And all its laws and their Ordainer be 
Accounted wrong because they were unswerved 

Before a mote enraged at destiny — 
A mote which strove to stem instead of ride 
The currents of the Infinite's sweeping tide! 



140 



THE COTERIE. 

READ AT ITS TWENTIETH ANNIVERSARY, IN DANSVILLE, N. Y. 

There is a temple in Cologne 
Which, slowly rising, slone on stone, 
Age after age, till it had grown 
Into complete proportions vast, 
Appeared sublimely fair at last, 
Wedding the present to the past. 

" They builded better than they knew;" 
And thus our circle's history grew — 
A circle to which praise is due 
For social sweetness, garnered lore, 
With patient searchings for the core 
Of things, for liberal ways, and more. 
Through years now numbering a score. 

I stood upon your eastern hill, 

And saw the morning sunbeams fill 

The valley, flaming creek and rill. 

Not far away health's palace stood. 

Beside the spring-sprayed, path-wound wood, 

A welcoming beatitude.* 



* The Sanitorium. 

141 



Bird-voices warbled overhead, 

The saffron clouds were streaked with red, 

And all the scene was beauty-fed — 

The burnished east, the mottled west, 

The southward swell where loved ones rest 

And wake not, Ossian's rounded crest. 

Near vineyards, waving corn and wheat. 

Small children playing by the street. 

Light-footed maidens, horsemen fleet. 

The village cottages and spires. 

Thin veils of smoke from household fires, 

The toilward-walking sons and sires. 

The stream-washed valley's northward sweep. 

Where thrifty farmers sow and reap. 

The woody sides of ranges steep 

Which on Canaseraga look, 

And many a tributary brook 

Leaping from rocky glen and nook. 

Beneath a morn-limned summer sky. 
Where nature's pure perfections lie, 
How impulse prompts the inner eye 
To cheapen fortune, while unfold 
The hidden charms of new and old. 
Transmuting everything to gold. 
Or golden fancies, as a dower 
To charge and amplify the hour 
With added hopefulness and power. 

142 



When nature thus, with note and ray, 
Tunes, tints, and shows her perfect day, 
Earth's coarseness vanishes away. 
And better is this waking dream, 
Illumed by inspiration's gleam, 
More real than the plodders deem, 
Than common custom's husky bread, 
Crusted, perchance, in theories dead, 
With which too many lives are fed. 

But wherefore do I turn aside 
From lovely valley-stretches wide, 
A philosophic steed to ride ? 

Fit birthplace for our Coterie, 

Which helped so many eyes to see 

With better sight — more clear and free — 

I thought, as rainbowed reverie 

Dispelled the present meltingly, 

And bore me back to 'Seventy-three. 

I saw the little group, each face, 

The room, the smiles, the tempered grace 

Of gestured talk, through the long space 

Of time — how swift, how swift its flight! — 

As there we tried to plan aright 

That which we celebrate to-night. 

143 



We wooed choice spirits, and they came, 

Some known and some unknown to fame, 

But all with goodly zeal and aim. 

Their creeds and politics were mixed, 

Whether the two in them were fixed, 

Or floated the extremes betwixt ; 

And if some sinners sandwiched saints, 

There followed no apparent taints. 

Or holier-than-thou complaints. 

Our best were very, very good, 

And were not men, 'twas understood, 

And one must be exceeding rude. 

Or theologically sad. 

To call our sinners very bad, 

Supposing, always, such we had. 

And, Coterieans, you'll agree 
The methods of our Coterie 
Taught us a broader charity 
For human views of every shade. 
Humanity of every grade. 
And thus a worthier record made. 

We learned to value hobbies less. 
And show less heat and willfulness. 
As we went on to more success ; 
For mental clashings could but show 
That half the things men think they know 
May either be or not be so. 

144 



Who can recount the round of things 

That marked our weekly gatherings, 

To which the memory fondly clings ? — 

The siftings of philosophies, 

Tales, poems, dramas, histories, 

Past virtues, vices, vanities, 

The questionings and comments fit, 

The shots of repartee and wit, 

Which sparkled, flashed, and often hit. 

Problems explained, and thoughts divined. 

Phrases corrected, words defined ? 

Too hard the task, unlined or lined. 

What contrast, when the work was done. 
And literature gave place to fun ! 
For did not nearly every one 
Forget all care, and, wading in. 
Create a social breeze and din. 
Ignoring previous discipline? 

Most honor and reward are due. 

Not, gentlemen, to me and you. 

But those more graceful, sweet, and true, 

Who opened hospitable doors. 

And welcomed us to Brusseled floors 

And easy chairs, nor thought us bores. 

Although we bowed departures late, 

145 



And sometimes lingered at the gate 

To bask in smiles which tempted fate ; 

Who, when our interest in the work 

Was flagging, and we fain would shirk, 

Aware that indolence must lurk 

In man forever, strove anew 

With deftest skill to lead us through. 

Or stir us to arouse and do 

Our proper tasks, they zealous still 

Each Coteriean year to fill 

As conscience urged, with tireless will. 

With fair, parade, speech, song, and cheer, 

America's Columbian year 

Is glorified ; its end is near. 

Long, long shall be remembered well. 

And parents to their children tell 

Its wonders, and the tales impel 

Thousands of thousands, now unborn. 

To high ambitions ; to adorn 

Their lives with beauty, like that morn 

Of raptures which transformed earth so, 

And filled your vale with color, glow. 

Scent, song, and charm, to overflow. 

So, in its place, in less degree. 
May we not hope our Coterie 
And this festivity will be 

146 



Far-reaching powers to stimulate 

Thoughts, words, and deeds of varying date. 

Praiseworthy, many wise, some great? 

Already, if I note aright 

Cause and effect, the sequence bright 

Of fragrant fruitage is not slight. 

Others will reap where we have sown, 
And other harvests will be grown 
From seeds of seeds, in germed, unknown. 
Ours, founders, the first tilth and seed. 
The purposed plan in time of need ; 
And now 'tis ours to say God-speed. 

If faith in us should seem to sleep, 
And, fearful of the unknown deep 
Before, our sinking hearts should weep, 
By turning round, and looking back 
Along our circle's shining track. 
With scarce a trace of shadowy black. 
What strength of reason there behind 
The peering memory may find 
To cheer and waken heart and mind. 



147 



NAUGHTY BOYS. 

A tribute to the naughty boys 

Who rend the air with discords dire, 

And revel in forbidden joys, 
And double ready fists with ire. 

No matter if their feet are bare, 

No matter if their clothes are torn, 
And streaky face, and rumpled hair 

Invite the daintier urchin's scorn ; 
No matter if, on fun intent, 

They tie tin cans to canine tail. 
And make the coat-skirt eloquent 

With hand-bill — no, no matter — hail ! 

Forgive the naughty boy, because 

His so-called naughtiness is often 
More needful than the rigid laws 

Decreed to tame him down and soften. 
Within him is the bursting germ 

Offerees which release mankind 
From bonds of custom, hard and firm. 

And earth's arcana seek and find. 

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The boy who shouts, who strikes when struck, 

Who only half believes his betters, 
Who takes large risks, and trusts to luck, 

And loves wild nature more than letters. 
Who causes pain with slight emotion, 

And also bears it without crying, 
Who lacks in reverence and devotion, 

And even does some shrewd white-lying. 
Looks in your eye with steady nerve, 

And reads you keenly through and through, 
Says '' trump " or " fraud " with small reserve, 

And hates the false, and likes the true — 
That boy, or other boy as bad. 

Or even worse, may be the man 
To make the old time-servers sad. 

And do brave deeds as best he can ; 
To fan the flames of liberty 

From ashes where it smouldered long ; 
To change defeat to victory. 

Defend the weak against the strong ; 
To find new pathways over lands, 

And over seas, and through the skies, 
And bind with steam and lightning bands 

The nations into closer ties ; 
To fight the battles, undismayed. 

With man, and beast, and element, 
And new domains of thought invade. 

And wonder-working schemes invent. 

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Such naughty boys, grown up, are they 
Who change, renew, and rule the earth, 

Whom men denounce, and then obey, 
And later celebrate their birth. 



WHEN I RECALL. 

When I recall a face and eye 

Whose gracious radiations warm 
The coldest heart, I sometimes sigh 

Because amid the beating storm, 
And weary work, and ugly things 

Of life, I may not always be 
Within their light, or lack the wings 

To fly and rest there baskingly. 



150 



AN KVOLUTIONARY TRADITION. 

EXTRACT FROM A READING BEFORE THE EDITORS OF THE NEW YORK 
AND SOUTHERN PRESS ASSOCIATIONS. 

A long time ago— just how long, it appears, 

The authorities are not agreed — 
A convention of monkeys was held in the woods, 

A motley assemblage indeed, 
To talk over matters of common concern 

In a social and garrulous way, 
With grinnings, and antics, and whiskings of tail. 

As monkeys and monkey-kind may. 

They elected a president, aged and bland, 

With superior wisdom endowed. 
To sit on a prominent limb and preside 

O'er the rather disorderly crowd. 

After many confusions, and gestures, and jumps. 

And shakings of branches and twigs. 
And cuffings of youngsters to make them keep still. 

And noddings, suspensions, and jigs, 
Old Jimbo, the president, slowly arose, 

And, calUng to order, remarked. 
In a jargon not now understood, that they had 

On a glorious mission embarked. 

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There were monkeys then present, as all might observe, 

(Attention, and curious wonder,) 
Who were wiser and better, while shorter of tail. 

Than the rest sitting over and under. 

Here the cheers from the short-tails was mingled, 'tis 
said, 

With sounds of dissent from the long. 
But the chairman's stern dignity quickly prevailed. 

Suppressing the jabbering throng; 
And a general effort was presently seen 

On the part of the longs to curl in 
Their caudal attachments obscuringly close ; 

The shorts chuckled low, with a grin. 

Order being restored. Chairman Jimbo renewed 

The remarks interrupted, and said : 
" My renown as a prophet through all of your tribes 

Should still you," and, scratching his head, 
" The secrets revealed to me only last night, 

After fastings, and vigils, and tears. 
Shall now be repeated, O monkeys, to you ; 

Be silent and open your ears. 

"I saw — in a vision at midnight I saw — 
That from monkeys a race would descend, 

So stately, and noble, and mighty, and wise. 
That you who my speaking attend, 

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Could you see them this moment, would all be amazed, 

And doubt the relationship quite, 
And tremble as never you trembled before. 

And scramble away in affright." 

Then Jimbo, the prophet, proceeded at length, 
And described with much detail and hue 

The race of the future, now known to be man, 
And the wonderful things it would do. 

''Our mission," said Jimbo, in closing his speech, 

'' Is to hasten the glorious day 
Of the race of the prophecy, distant but sure. 

What monkey among you says nay ? " 

No answer, and eloquent Jimbo stood up 

As erect as yourself, my dear sir, 
While all through his magnetized audience ran 

An expectant, sensational stir. 

'' My plan is," he said, " to begin the great work 

As reformers should always begin. 
By reforming ourselves, and removing at once 

An obvious folly and sin. 
It is plain, from the fact that we monkeys whose tails 

Are shortest, are wisest of all, 
That brains will develop as tails are curtailed, 

And therefore I urgently call 

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On every good monkey, wherever he is, 

To cHp the excrescence to-day, 
To cHp it with zeal, for the sake of the cause, 

To chp it and throw it away !" 

The meeting assented, though many looked grave, 

As doubting, or fearing, or both. 
The others, believing that Jimbo knew best, 

Cheered hearty and long, nothing loth. 

Then the monkeys dispersed, and the tails were removed. 

And the tribes of old Jimbo grew wise. 
And progress was rapid from monkey to man. 

And journals, and sermons, and lies ! 



154 



THE STALLED TRAIN. 

'Twuz Thompson's light up on the hill 

You seed and tried to reach, not mine. 
He owns the pond below, and mill ; 

The fence you dumb wuz on his line. 
You'll alluz find the latch-string out 

At neighbor Thompson's big front door, 
As sure's my name is Jacob Stout. 

Stranger, you never seed a more 
Enjoyin' couple in yer life, 

Or helpfuller, than Thompson there 
On Thompson hill, and Thompson's wife: 

Sech folks, ef I'm a judge, is rare. 
I've knowed 'em from a boy; and facts 

Is alluz facts ; and we air told 
That virtoo shows itself in acts ; 

Which proves they're wuth their weight in gold. 
Consarn it ! sir, it makes me sad 

When I'm comparin' them and me, 
And I'm not reckoned very bad 

By folks round here. But them, you see. 
Don't never do no one no harm. 

And keeps right on a-doin' good. 

155 



It fairly makes a feller warm 

To look 'em in the eyes, and 'twould 
Hev mostly thawed you out, I know. 

When you riz up as white's a ghost 
From that air pesky pile uv snow. 

I calc'late you was eanamost 
Done fer when this ere Leap, my dog. 

Come back and led me whar you war, 
Layin' as still 's a hemlock log 

A mile this side the hindmost car. 
They've been stalled sev'rul times afore 

In Dingman Cut; but I haint knowed 
A storm in fifteen years or more 

As tough as this. Jings ! how it blowed 
Around the end of Rocky Horn, 

Ten rods from whar you laid asleep. 
You'd died as sure as you air born 

Ef 't hadn't been for me and Leap. 
I alluz, when a train is stalled 

On stormy nights, send out the dog, 
And twict afore he's come and called 

Me out to take a midnight jog 
Waist-deep in drifts. So you're the third 

We've gethered up in this same way, 
And nighest gone, upon my word. 

But here you be, and you kin stay 
In welcome till the wind eroes down 



156 



And roads is broke, and longer, too. 
It's plain you couldn't git to town 

'Till arter Christmas 'thout you flew, 
Fer that's clus by. And, come to think, 

We celebrate at Thompson's place, 
And you kin go, and larn a kink 

Or two'v the Thompsons, face to face. 

ONE YEAR AFTER. 

Grace Thompson, she, ef my name's Stout, 

Is jest the han's'mest girl and best 
In all these parts round here, 'ithout — 

Not reck'nin' time and interest — 
It might be Grace's bloomin' ma 

When she wuz Nellie Benton, and 
Courted by Grace's 'fraidish pa, 

Who somehow couldn't understand 
Fer nigh about a'most a year 

Whuther she wanted him or not, 
Debatin' atwixt hope and fear. 

And lovin' all the time red-hot. 
But fudge ! these lovers' eyes is blind 

When others see as plain as day : 
We knowed the state uv Nellie's mind. 

And when he popped what she wud say. 

How time slides on ! It doesn't seem 
'Z if Nellie Benton, real true, 

157 



Wuz Grace's ma, and it's like a dream 

That Grace is nearly married too. 
How queer and lucky things turn out 

Sometimes. Now, there is Grace's beau, 
Rescood by Leap and Jacob Stout 

From freezin' stiff a year ago. 
Ef 't hadn't snowed, and stalled the train. 

And he plugged cross-lots, and half died, 
And me gone there with Leap, it's plain 

The love-knot never would be tied 
'Twixt him and Grace. It's come all right; 

He's prime ; the Thompsons needn't fear. 
Besides, to meet fust Christmas night. 

And marry Christmas day next year, 
Old Meg says is a sartin sign 

The match wuz made in heaven, to be 
Fer happy lovin' superfine. 

Like Grace's pa's and ma's, you see. 

He's got a house in town, I hear. 

With brown-stun front, about bran new. 
And carvy fixin's grand and queer, 

Jest like a pallus thru and thru. 
But you nor I haint never seen 

A farmer's girl more fit to shine 
Down there, or who could be a queen 

In better style, ef in that line 

158 



Of business, with a real king, 

Settin' on thrones, and wearin' crowns, 
And bowin', and that sort o' thing, 

With women holdin' up her gowns. 
But Grace has sense as well as love. 

And aint agoin' to put on airs. 
And cut old friends, and feel above 

Us common people anywheres. 
She'll soon be back to see her ma, 

And ride, and romp, and jump about 
The farm and ridge, along 'th her pa. 

Hug Leap, talk hoss with Jacob Stout, 
Help Biddy sweep, and wash, and bile, 

And be the girl she used to be, 
Like's not fergettin' fer awhile 

That she's the stylish Mrs. G. 

We're goin' to miss her, sure enough ; 

But folks can't have their wish and will 
More'n half the time, and though it's tough, 

It needn't make 'em mad or ill. 

Ho, hum ! it's time to sleep a bit ; 

No train's been stalled in this ere snow; 
So, Leap, I guess we'd better git 

To bed immejiate, you know. 



159 



MY LAUREL. 

Be this my laurel, lady sweet, 

For you, that on this day I greet 
You with whate'er in me is best, 

And wish you evermore most blest ; 
That, seeing your unselfish life 

Of toilsome, uncomplaining strife 
With the rough world, I hold you true, 

And worship womanhood in you. 



160 



